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Chapter Text

“Follow me, Mr. Potter.”

Harry Potter was not above pleading. “Malfoy had Neville’s Remembrall,” he gasped out. Professor McGonagall was surprisingly spry, and Harry struggled to keep up with her long strides. “He was going to steal it. Or break it. I couldn’t let him do that to Neville.” He couldn’t see McGonagall’s expression from behind her, and she didn’t speak. Harry lamented his poor luck and kicked himself for getting himself expelled because he lost his temper.

“Professor Flitwick, may I borrow Wood for a moment?” McGonagall knocked and opened a door, and Harry heard the Charms professor agree. Harry wondered whether this ‘Wood’ was a paddle or a cane that the professors used to discipline the students. Harry wasn’t ashamed to admit that he would much prefer getting caned over being sent back to the Dursleys. A tall, stocky older boy stepped out and nodded at McGonagall.

“Wood, I believe I’ve found you a new seeker.” She told him, and his eyebrows raised as he noticed Harry standing behind her. Harry saw the professor’s face for the first time since entering the castle, and he realised her eyes were wide with – was that excitement?

“Is that Harry Potter, professor?” Wood’s eyes flit back and forth between Harry and McGonagall. She nodded.

“Of course, he will need to be taught the rules – he’s muggle-raised. He won’t know anything,” McGonagall spoke, half to Wood and half to herself. “But he’s very talented, Wood. I’m sure the team will benefit greatly from him. I will talk to Professor Dumbledore; I’m sure exceptions can be made. You should’ve seen the dive he pulled off just now. I saw it from my office, nearly a Wronski. His first time on a broom, too.”

Wood's eyebrows raised higher into his hairline. Harry, too, was confused. He got the feeling he wasn’t going to be expelled. Or even punished, for that matter. He was also very unsettled, reconciling this enthusiastic version with his mental image of the normally reserved and prim professor.

“I expect you to take him out to the pitch sometime this week and show him the ropes,” the professor looked expectantly at Wood. He nodded slowly. Then she turned to Harry. Her face had returned to her usual, serious countenance, but there was a gleam in her eyes when she looked at him. “Potter, I expect your flying lessons will be over soon, and I daresay you don’t need them to begin with. I will speak to Madam Hooch and ensure you are excused for missing class. I want you two to work hard to return the trophy to my office, Potter, Wood. It has been far too long since I’ve seen it there.”

“Trophy? Professor, what –” Harry began, but the professor waved him off.

“Wood will explain everything to you, Mr. Potter. I must take my leave.” And with that, she turned the corner and left. A dazed Harry turned back to Wood. The older boy looked just as confused. Shaking his head, he looked at Harry and stuck out his hand.

“Oliver Wood, Potter. Nice to meet you,” the two boys shook hands. “Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. I’ve got to get back to Charms right now, my O.W.L. year, you know? I’ll come to find you in the common room after dinner, then we can talk.”

Harry still had no idea what Quidditch was. He decided he would ask Ron at lunch.

Later that week, Harry found himself walking alongside Oliver Wood to the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. The pitch was large and oblong. Stands lined the pitch's edge and were raised some fifteen feet in the air. At each end, three hoops jutted out of the ground at different heights. Harry stared in awe. All the stories Ron told him about Quidditch seemed so much more impressive now that he was seeing the sheer scale of the pitch. The sight of the pitch replaced his nerves with steadily building excitement.

“If you think this place is amazing now, wait till you see it when it's packed full of students,” Wood grinned at Harry, noticing his awe. “Though I imagine you’ll have the best seat in the house.”

Wood dropped a heavy wooden box unceremoniously on the grass, and Harry’s attention snapped to it. Wood unlatched the crate and threw it open. Inside were three balls that Harry recognised, from Ron’s descriptions, as the Quaffle and the two Bludgers. Harry frowned, searching for the fourth ball, the one that Harry was told was his job to catch.

“Looking for this, Potter?” Wood asked, flipping a latch on the side of a metallic Hogwarts emblem. From within, Harry heard a fluttering sound as the Golden Snitch flapped its wings rapidly, trying to escape the ironclad grip with which Wood held it. Wood held the Snitch out to Harry as if to hand it to him. Before Harry could take it from him, Wood released it into the air. The Snitch shot up in the air instantly. Harry’s hand reached out to catch it on pure reflex. He felt his fingertips brush its wings before it escaped his grasp. Harry held his hand suspended in the air but watched the Snitch with narrowed eyes. Predicting the path of the ball, which fluttered around him and Wood, Harry snapped forward, putting his hand right into the path of the Snitch. It turned impossibly fast, but Harry had already closed his hands around it.

Entranced by the Snitch, Harry had missed Wood grinning at him the whole time. There was a spark in the older boy’s eye as he took the Snitch back from Harry. “Well, Potter. I think you’re going to do perfectly fine as a Seeker.”

Harry realised then that Wood had released the Snitch to test him. A test he had passed with flying colours if the look on Wood’s face was any indication. Harry felt pride swell within him. He liked that he had finally found something he was good at, something his relatives couldn’t take away from him.

Harry and Wood then proceeded to toss a couple of golf balls back and forth. Harry consistently made the catches, but Wood’s throws were getting progressively more unpredictable, and Harry was having an increasingly difficult time catching them. Wood called the practice to an end when he threw two balls at once, and Harry, who had caught the first ball, didn’t see the second one coming. The second ball hit Harry right in the face, and his glasses went flying.

Wood apologised profusely, but since he did it while doubled over in laughter, Harry had a difficult time believing his sincerity. The older boy summoned Harry’s glasses off the grass and fixed the scratches and blemishes with a muttered incantation and a wave of his wand. Harry accepted the glasses gratefully and blinked as the world came back into focus.

“You going up to the Great Hall for dinner, Potter?” Wood asked as he heaved the box with the Quidditch balls and began walking toward the broom shed. Harry nodded. “Perfect, you can meet the rest of the team. We usually eat dinner together most days.”

Harry swallowed nervously. “Are you sure, Captain? I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Nonsense, Potter. You’re a part of the team now,” Wood grinned back at Harry over his shoulder. “Also, quit calling me ‘captain’, the twins would never let me live it down. Call me Oliver.”

“If you say so, Oliver,” Harry said, a bit of awkwardness creeping into his voice. A nervous sweat broke down his neck as he imagined meeting the rest of the team for the first time. He wondered how they would react to him. He wondered if Oliver was to the team what Dudley was to his gang back in Little Whinging. Though Oliver seemed a lot nicer than Dudley, maybe the team would also be nice. Though, he knew better than to let his guard down. Aunt Petunia also acted nice to him when they had guests, though she treated him with nothing short of derision otherwise.

Harry was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice that not only had he and Oliver left the Quidditch pitch, but they had arrived at the doors to the Entrance Hall. Oliver pushed the door open, and Harry thanked him before shuffling in.

Harry and Oliver walked down the Gryffindor table. Harry spied Ron sitting with Seamus, looking miserable as Hermione lectured them about some inane topic. Ron spotted Harry and gave him a look that clearly said, kill me now .

Harry grinned apologetically before walking a little faster past Hermione. He hoped she wouldn’t notice him, as he was afraid of the lecture he would receive for his stunt earlier that week. She still couldn’t believe that Harry was getting rewarded for breaking the rules.

Oliver led Harry to a group of older students. Harry felt a wave of relief as he recognised the raucous laughter and twin shocks of red hair that could only belong to the Weasley Twins. Ron’s twin older brothers were the first to notice them.

“Captain! And Harry!” George exclaimed. He was wearing a green jumper with a large ‘F’, for Fred, emblazoned on the front. From what Ron told him, George was more likely to be wearing Fred’s jumper. “Has Woodie scared you off yet, Harrikins?”

“I don’t think so, Freddie,” said Fred, looking at his brother. Fred was wearing a blue jumper with an orange ‘G’ on it. “Don’t worry, Harry, Wood isn’t too bad of a captain when he’s not talking about Quidditch,” Fred shuddered dramatically. “Unfortunately, Wood is always talking about Quidditch.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “I presume you already know Fred and George, since you’re mates with their little brother. They’re our beaters.” Oliver sat between George and an unknown seventh-year, who didn’t acknowledge the younger boy.

Harry looked at the assembled group nervously. They weren’t staring at him per se, but they were looking at him expectantly. Harry only realised they were waiting for him to sit when a girl wearing a red-and-gold bandanna shifted and patted an open space between her and Fred. Harry grinned awkwardly at the girl as he took the offered seat. She looked amused.

“Alicia Spinnet,” she waved airily. “I’m a chaser. Nice to meet you, Potter.”

Harry waved back. His gaze scanned the rest of the team. A muscular, dark-skinned girl grinned at him from the seat across from Alicia.

“Angelina Johnson, also chaser,” her mischievous expression told Harry that he was going to be the subject of a lot of teasing from her. Harry could handle that; Dudley and his friends had given Harry very thick skin over the years.

“Oliver told us McGonagall was singing your praises the other day,” Angelina smirked, drawing the attention of the third girl, presumably the third chaser. “Apparently, you’re a natural, and the right build for a seeker, scrawny little thing you are.” Harry’s face pinked.

“Angie, leave him alone. You’re embarrassing him!” The third chaser was a smaller girl, with straw-coloured hair that hung just above her shoulders. Her hazel eyes glinted with amusement, even as she punched Angelina on the shoulder. “I’m Katie Bell, by the way. Second year. Ignore Angelina, she will take the mickey out of anything and everything that moves.”

Harry smiled weakly. “Harry Potter, nice to meet you all.” All three girls looked utterly unsurprised at the introduction, and Harry felt it was probably entirely unnecessary. However, Harry did notice, with brief frustration, that all three girls glanced at his scar. Harry guessed he should be thankful; a momentary glance was much more courteous than most people in the wizarding world had been so far.

Perhaps the girls got bored with waiting for him to speak, for they returned to their conversations. Angelina and Alicia were arguing about something that Harry couldn’t quite follow. Katie’s attention turned back to her shepherd’s pie, which she devoured with a vigour that would put Ron to shame, though her table manners far exceeded his. Occasionally, she would look up at the other chasers and comment before turning back to her plate.

Harry looked at the other side of their little group and saw the twins trying to convince Oliver to eat a sweet that Fred pulled out of his pocket. Harry instantly turned back to the girls, lest the twins choose him as their new victim.

“Harry, back me up here.” Angelina looked at the boy, who had just turned back into the conversation and had no idea what was being talked about.

“Huh?” Harry blinked, and Alicia snorted.

“Do you think it would be easier to convince Snape to wash his hair, or Hagrid to shave his beard?” Alicia asked while adjusting her bandanna. Harry just stared, trying to imagine either scenario.

“I think you’ve broken him, ‘Licia.” Angelina snickered. Katie just watched the exchange with barely concealed amusement.

“I think Snape would kill me if I even spoke to him outside of class, I don’t want to test my luck. So probably Hagrid.” Harry nodded to himself. “Though I can’t lie, I can’t even imagine what Hagrid’s chin looks like.”

Harry shuddered at the thought, and he thought Angelina and Katie looked ill. Alicia roared with laughter.

Harry grinned sheepishly when Alicia gave him a high-five. Angelina grumbled, “Snape was obviously the correct answer.” Harry could only shrug apologetically.

The rest of dinner passed similarly. Harry spent most of the time joking around with the girls, though he allowed himself to be drawn into conversation with Oliver and the twins as well. He learned that Alicia and Angelina were both third-years. They were quite exuberant, while Katie seemed to be more reserved, at least when it came to him. Alicia’s favourite class was Transfiguration, and Angelina said that Katie was a potions genius, which was denied by the blushing girl. Angelina and Oliver both wanted to play professional Quidditch, while the twins wanted to open a joke shop.

The group of seven went back up to Gryffindor Tower together, where they claimed a corner for themselves. Harry found himself sitting between Oliver and Alicia on the couch when the conversation turned to Quidditch.

“So, I asked McGonagall for all your schedules, and it turns out all of us are free tomorrow evening. We need to get Harry adjusted to the rest of the team, so I booked the pitch for our first practice tomorrow.” Oliver spoke in one breath before anyone could interrupt.

“For TOMORROW?” Alicia glared at him. “I have a charms quiz next week; I need to study.”

“Were you planning on studying tomorrow?” Angelina looked at the irate Alicia with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, no, but that’s not the point. I could be studying, if not for our tyrant-captain.” Alicia glared at Angelina, who only shrugged. Alicia turned to Harry, “Back me up here, Harry. Isn’t practice tomorrow unnecessary?”

“Well, I’m really looking forward to playing with all of you, so I really don’t mind,” Harry said earnestly, a little intimidated by Alicia’s fierce expression. Oliver looked vindicated, but he hurried before Alicia hexed him. “But I do think it is a little short notice,” Harry said placatingly.

Alicia gave Harry a look of betrayal. Oliver looked smug. Katie looked a little annoyed but didn’t seem bothered enough to voice it. The twins looked excited at the prospect of Quidditch, and Angelina was convinced when Oliver mentioned that the practice wasn’t in the morning.

“Tomorrow evening, then,” Oliver clapped his hands and stood up. “Wear your workout clothes. First practice back, we’re doing double physical training.”

That was met by collective groans from the team. Harry already knew tomorrow would leave him exhausted.

The next morning, Harry walked into the Great Hall, feeling excited and more than a little nervous. His first-ever Quidditch practice was in thirty minutes, and Harry’s stomach rolled at the thought of being watched and judged by his new teammates. Increasingly dramatic scenarios flashed through his mind, all ending with his expulsion from the team. The fact that this was his second time ever on a broom didn’t help Harry’s nerves any. 

Harry spied an empty seat opposite Hermione and moved toward it. He saw Angelina and Alicia waving him over from further down, but he was of half mind to pretend he didn’t see them. The thought of practice was pressure enough, he didn’t need the presence of his teammates to aggravate his nerves.

The choice was taken out of his hands when two identical arms looped through him and lifted him off the ground.

Harry let out a surprised yell when Fred and George picked him up and carted him toward the two chasers. They plopped him down on an empty stretch of the bench and took seats on each of his sides. Across from him, Alicia and Angelina laughed at the frazzled look on Harry’s face.

“Ready for Oliver to run you into the ground, Harry?” Angelina laughed at the panic on Harry’s face.

“Don’t worry, Harry. The first practice isn’t usually too bad,” Alicia said with a sombre look, and Harry felt there was a ‘but’. “You won’t be able to walk afterwards, but otherwise, not too bad.”

Harry felt nauseous and welcomed a distraction in the form of a skipping, unnaturally cheery Katie Bell. 

“Who hit you with a cheering charm this morning?” Alicia raised an eyebrow and watched with mild disgust as Katie lathered way too much jam on her toast. 

“Cedric waved to me on the stairs today,” Katie said happily, before biting a huge chunk out of her toast.

“Was that before or after he caught you staring at him?” one of the twins chirped, while the other turned to Harry and spoke in an obvious stage whisper.

“Wittle Katie fancies Cedric Diggory,” he shook his head as if disappointed. “He’s the Hufflepuff seeker, I can’t believe she would get entangled with the enemy.” The still-unidentified twin pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.

Katie glared at them both, her face becoming more and more reminiscent of a tomato as the twins spoke. 

“Notice how she’s not denying any of it,” Angelina piped in, dodging a scone Katie threw at her. Angelina faux-gasped. “You just tried to kill me! D’you reckon Ced is into serial killers, ‘Licia?”

“You know what they say,” Alicia said in what Harry supposed was meant to be a raspy, wise tone, though she ended up sounding like she had toast stuck in her throat. “Opposites attract. If Ced’s going to be the sunshine-and-daisies, she’s got to be the crazy one, you know?”

“If Katie’s the crazy one, what does that make you?” asked the twin on Harry’s right, merrily. Alicia made a rude gesture at him.

“Jealous, I think,” Harry commented, reaching for the butter dish. His outstretched arm hid the large grin on his face as Alicia spluttered. Angelina roared with laughter. Harry looked up innocently at Angelina and Alicia. Fred and George looked like Christmas had come early.

“Do you like ‘Ced’, Alicia?” Air quotes were made around the word ‘Ced’. “Is that why you’re badgering Katie? Because he waved to her and not you?” The twin on Harry’s left batted his eyelashes innocently.

“Badgering indeed. What is your opinion on badgers, Katie?” the other twin looked at her wide-eyed.

“Sod off, George,” Katie grumbled. “Harry, can you pass the salt?”

“I’m Fred!” Totally-not-George exclaimed. Katie ignored him and took the salt from Harry with a nod.

“What’s going on?” Oliver asked, walking over to where the team was seated. He was already wearing workout clothes and a large, oblivious grin. “Why does Katie look like she’s about to go on a killing spree?”

That sent everyone into another spiel of laughter, and Katie tossed a piece of toast that hit Oliver square in the nose.

The Quidditch pitch smelled of freshly cut grass and morning dew. Katie, who was still mad at the rest of the team, stuck by Harry on the way to the pitch. As they meandered in the locker room, waiting for the twins to leave the boys’ changing room, she told him to enjoy the pleasantly cool weather while it lasted. “Once November rolls around, you’ll be freezing in the air.”

“Alright, people!” Wood walked out carrying the large box containing the Quidditch balls. “First, we’re doing some physical training.”

At the words ‘physical training’, two loud groans came from within the changing room as the twins walked out. “You’re going to kill us one day, Wood.”

“Sorry, Fred. But you’ll be thanking me when we win the cup this year.”

“Yeah, you said that last year too, mate.”

“Well, George, last year we didn’t have our secret weapon.” Oliver grinned at the twins, clapping Harry on the back. Harry swallowed nervously and stood up.

“Seems like our rookie is ready to go,” Oliver surveyed the rest of his team happily. They all glared back at him. Alicia made a rude gesture. He leaned toward Harry and whispered conspiratorially. “I do extra physical training on the first practice of the season. I know no one except Angelina does much exercise over the break, so we're going to get the rust off. I think you’ll have fun today, Harry.”

Oliver Wood had a unique definition of fun.

Nearly two hours of running, push-ups, burpees, and other exercises had Harry shaking from exhaustion. He stood hunched over with his hands on his knees. Thick droplets of sweat formed on his chin and fell onto the grass. Spread across the pitch, the rest of the team lay collapsed in differing levels of exhaustion.

Fred and George lay face down on the grass, completely still. Harry was of half mind to check if they were still breathing. He would’ve done it, too, if not for the occasional groan that sounded from their general direction. A few feet away, Alicia lay on her back, staring up at the heavens as if praying to some god to come down and smite Oliver. Katie was sat on the grass, leaning against one of the supports and slowly sipping on the water bottle Oliver had tossed to her.

Alicia had also received a bottle from Harry, and she had promptly dumped it on her head. She let out a contented sigh as the water ran down her face. Angelina was sitting up on the grass, sipping her bottle as she talked strategy with the captain, who appeared unbothered by the exercise. If not for the copious sweat on his clothing and face, one could be excused for thinking Oliver didn’t join them for the exercise.

“Alright, team!” the captain clasped his hands, looking at all of them. “That’s the warm-up done –”

“The WHAT?” One of the twins yelled while the other screamed something incoherent. Alicia muttered something about tyrants and guillotines.

“I thought all of you liked flying?” Oliver raised an eyebrow. “We’re playing Quidditch. That means broomsticks. Come on, everyone, on your feet.” He clapped twice before extending a hand to Angelina. Harry offered a hand to Katie, who was the closest to him. She gave him a grateful look and clasped his forearm, pulling herself up. She got up with a sharp exhale.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, concerned.

“No, everything hurts,” Katie groaned and leaned on him. “But that’s to be expected. My fault for not going running with Ollie whenever he asked me. Speaking of, how do you still have the energy to stand up straight?”

“Er, I did a lot of running growing up.” Harry had no intention of telling her, or anyone else at Hogwarts, about Harry Hunting.

“Did you do track and field in primary school?”

“Not exactly.” Katie didn’t push further, which he was grateful for.

The team filed into the locker room gingerly. Harry sat down next to Katie, who appeared to be breathing a little easier. Oliver and the girls were already fishing equipment out of their lockers. Harry burned with embarrassment. Oliver didn’t tell him he was supposed to have all this protective gear. Maybe seekers didn’t need them?

“Normally, seekers wear goggles,” Oliver said as he dumped a pile of equipment into Harry’s lap. Harry sorted through the worn elbow and knee pads, as well as a frayed pair of gloves. “You’ll be moving at speeds much higher than the rest of us, so you might get a bug in your eye or something. But I figured you’d prefer to hold onto your glasses.”

“Yeah, thanks for the gear, Oliver,” Harry said gratefully, internally breathing a sigh of relief as the embarrassment dissipated.

“Don’t thank me yet. I’ve got one last thing for you,” Oliver grinned, pulling out a red and gold bundle of cloth and tossing it to Harry, who caught it reflexively. “Welcome to the team, Potter.”

Harry unfurled the cloth, revealing a Gryffindor Quidditch jersey. The jersey looked exactly like the ones his teammates were wearing. The cloth was a rich crimson, with glossy gold accents running up his sides and down the long sleeves on his arms. On the front was emblazoned GRYFFINDOR QUIDDITCH in large, blocky letters. The Gryffindor house crest was printed on just over his heart. The back was what really caught his attention. POTTER was printed on the back over the number seven, marking the jersey as his.

Harry threw the jersey on over his t-shirt and basked in the feeling of his jersey. He could hardly believe it. He knew that he was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but now it felt so real, and he was so grateful for it. Harry shook his head and started strapping on the leather knee guards, lest his joy overwhelm him. Katie saw him fumbling with an elbow strap and helped him draw it taut. He smiled in thanks.

Harry glanced at his loaned school broom, which lay at his feet. He had asked Oliver about where he could buy himself a broom, and if he could do it from Hogwarts, but Oliver had very cryptically told him not to worry about it. Oliver stood up, and the rest of the team lazily followed suit. Harry was one of the first on his feet. He held his hand over his broom and muttered, just like he’d been taught.

“Up!”

Harry’s broom shot straight into his palm. His skin tingled the moment it met the chipped, gnarled wood. A rush of electricity coursed up his arm. He grinned, and the broom vibrated in his hands, almost seeming to bask in the attention. It seemed to respond to his enthusiasm, almost like a pet.

Could brooms feel enthusiasm? Maybe they were like horses and could recognise their user’s emotions.

Before he could think too hard about his theory, Oliver cleared his throat.

“Alright, team!” came the disproportionately enthusiastic voice of Oliver Wood. He grinned at them, either oblivious to, ignoring, or enjoying the many glares from his teammates. “As you know, we have a new teammate, so we’re going to go over basic drills and formations today. Harry, I want you to pay attention to the chaser formations because you’re going to be working around them a lot.”

Harry nodded. The team moved together onto the grass. Oliver kept pace with Harry, explaining Quidditch fundamentals as they walked.

“Beaters tend to play reactively to the situation, and keepers stay near their end, so we’re usually pretty good at staying out of your way,” Oliver pointed at Fred and George, then at himself. “But seekers and chasers are both constantly moving and making plays. That means that there’s a higher chance that you bump into each other. So, keep an eye out for where your chasers are, and they’ll keep an eye out for you. More than anything else, the four of you need to be on the same page. If that communication breaks down, then we’ll always be on the back foot. Got it?

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry said, looking at the three chasers. They were walking as a group, heads together, as they all laughed at something. Harry could tell that the three of them were a well-oiled unit and worked well together. How was he supposed to become a part of that? Would they even want him to work with them? What if they felt that he was more of a hindrance than a help? After all, it was only his second time ever on a broom.

The self-doubt flooded his brain as he watched the chasers. Suddenly, he didn’t want to be on the pitch any more. Then he looked closer at the people around him. Oliver was still talking about snitch-dodging, which was when a seeker saw the snitch before his opponent and feinted in the other direction to prolong the game and let the chasers score. Alicia, who had turned around and seen Harry looking, smirked at him and gave him a two-finger salute. Katie and Angelina, who had been so nice to him, argued about something inane. The twins were sneaking up behind the arguing girls, probably up to some mischief. 

Despite his misgivings and doubts, for some reason, his teammates believed in him. For them, he decided he would work hard to become the seeker they thought he was. He clutched the Gryffindor house crest on his jersey and promised himself that he would catch the snitch in their first game. No matter what.

A sharp whistle knocked Harry out of his reverie, and he looked at Oliver, who had made the sound. Oliver, who had been carrying the large crate with the Quidditch balls, dropped it unceremoniously on the grass in front of him.

“Alright, we’re going to start with standard drills. Chasers, we’re going to be doing shooting drills. Standard procedure.” Oliver looked at the girls. His tone had lost the easygoing and excitable lilt that Harry associated with Oliver Wood. Instead, standing before Harry was the Quidditch Captain. He spoke with purpose and efficiency, and the gleam in his eyes was the only thing that belied his excitement. “Start at the scrimmage line, only three passes allowed past the penalty line. And for the love of Merlin, follow the rules of the game. No running into the keeper.”

The girls nodded simultaneously, though Alicia seemed a little put out that she wouldn’t be able to try to enact revenge on Oliver for the physical training.

“Fred, George, you two are going to take the other half of the pitch. Practice passing the bludger and making target shots. Use the hoops. After, say 20 minutes, join me and the chasers, and we’ll run the shooting drills again with you two running interference.”

“Aye aye, captain!” Fred and George chorused. The former chose a girlish, high-pitched screech, while the latter opted for an unnaturally low, gravelly tone. Oliver shook his head fondly.

“Harry, you’re going to chase this here practice snitch,” Oliver held up a glittering, tiny ball. He gave it to Harry, who secured it in his pocket. “Release, close your eyes and count to five, catch, and repeat. Don’t worry about coming into the playing area of the rest of us, we’ll have to work around each other in a match, might as well get started now.”

Harry nodded seriously.

“Alright, everyone. Let’s get in the air and make a couple of laps around the pitch. Once you’re comfortable, find the rest of your practice buddies and get started,” Oliver got on his broom and kicked off in one fluid motion. “Let’s have a good practice, everyone.”

The rest of his team followed Oliver’s example, and Harry found himself in the air once more.

He shot into the air, and his wide eyes shone with glee once he adjusted to the momentary feeling of weightlessness. Sheer adrenaline replaced his nerves. He felt the magic of the broom rush up his body, and he felt the familiar electricity jolt through him. It invigorated him, and he felt the last dregs of early-morning drowsiness fade away. That same feeling of freedom enveloped him as he pressed his body flat to his broom. He pushed the broom as fast as it would go, squinting as the wind battered his face. He lapped the pitch once before slowing down to a more sedate pace.

Harry made a few more lazy laps around the pitch, testing the surroundings. A gentle breeze drafted through the pitch, and Harry was suddenly glad that he had a set of robes on under his jersey. Once he felt used to the school broom, Harry floated to the centre of the pitch. Harry pulled the practice snitch out of his pocket and watched its wings unfurl. Harry released the golden ball and watched it zoom away from him. He closed his eyes and counted to five.

He opened his eyes and took a cursory glance. The snitch was nowhere to be found. Harry’s eyebrows creased as he took a second, closer look. He scanned the pitch, looking for a flash of gold, but the only thing he saw was a gold pin on Alicia’s bandanna.

Harry shook his head before leaning forward and accelerating. He lapped the outer edge of the pitch, head on a swivel, searching for the snitch. He was on his third lap when he spotted a glint of gold under the teacher’s stands, directly across the pitch from him. Harry’s eyes narrowed, and his vision focused on the snitch, and all else faded into the background.

Harry leaned forward, and his broom followed suit, propelling forward. He shot through the centre of the pitch, barely dodging Alicia, who was angling to pass to Angelina. He didn’t see the pass from a startled Alicia go wide, or see Katie have to break formation to catch the missed Quaffle.

No, all Harry saw was the glint of gold from the other end. He closed in on the snitch and the ball started flying away from him. Harry followed the snitch under the stands, and he cursed internally at the thought of dodging the support beams. He ducked under a jutting support beam and held out his hand.

The wind surged against him, as if nature itself was trying to stop him from the snitch. Harry swore he could almost feel the magic of the broom battling the wind, propelling him ever forward. Harry was gaining slowly on the snitch. It was only a few inches away now. He leaned forward, pressing himself even flatter against the borrowed broom. His eyes watered from a combination of the wind and a lack of blinking.

Harry was so focused on the snitch that he nearly flew headfirst into another support beam. Harry dove at the last moment, cursing as he forced his broom back up. His eyes scanned his vicinity for the snitch.

He spotted it flying back towards the centre of the pitch. Harry made a sharp turn, shifting his body weight to the left as the broom changed course. Even though the snitch had gained distance, Harry was back on its tail in an instant. He was flying over open air now, and he could see the ground beneath him turn green as he flew over the grass. The snitch tried to lose Harry among his teammates, and Harry tilted his broom upward, climbing over the rest of the players. He was well above the snitch, and the ball seemed to realise this as it changed direction downward.

Harry cursed and dove. He felt lighter than air as he accelerated downward. He felt faster than he had ever before, as gravity helped him on his path to the snitch. The turbulence in the air shook him, but his knuckles tightened around the shaft of his broom. Maybe five feet above the ground, the snitch flattened out and shot toward the hoops near Fred and George.

Harry curved his broom, flattening out comfortably above the ground. He used the momentum from his dive to propel himself forward, nearing the snitch rapidly.

“Just a bit more,” He muttered through clenched teeth when he was less than an arm's length away. Harry’s teeth grit together as his broom gave an extra burst of speed, and he lurched forward. His fingers brushed cool metal. His hand closed around the ball, and his arm dropped to his side with the snitch grasped in his palm.

Harry grinned with satisfaction as he leaned back on his broom, slowing it down. His heart pounded in his chest, and he couldn’t hear much over the blood rushing in his ears. He took deep, heaving breaths as he ascended to the middle of the pitch. A sharp whistle drew his attention, and he looked to see the rest of the team floating near the centre of the pitch.

“Nice flying, Harry.” Oliver held his hand up for a high-five as Harry approached. He indulged his captain, trying not to blush at the many compliments from his teammates. Alicia approached him and punched his shoulder lightly.

“Don’t be flying past me like that, I nearly had a heart attack.”

Harry grinned apologetically and looked at Oliver, who was trying to get his attention.

“While you did great work catching the snitch, you made a couple of mistakes when it comes to the larger game,” Oliver lectured. “Remember what we spoke about on the ground?”

“Yeah, I nearly knocked Alicia off her broom, and I think Katie had to break formation to catch the missed pass, too. I guess I tunnel-visioned on the snitch too much. Sorry.” Harry hung his head low and stared at the ground in shame, which was significantly harder when he was thirty feet in the air. The three chasers approached him.

“It’s not a problem at all, Harry,” Angelina patted him on the back. “You’re a rookie who’s never played Quidditch before. You’ll learn quickly. By the first game, you’ll be a demon.”

“Yeah, I’ll forgive you on one condition, Harry,” Alicia grinned, and Harry looked at her with more than a little trepidation. “I get to write your introduction.”

“My what?”

“You’ll see.”

Chapter Text

“So, let me get this straight. You two made Hermione cry, then locked her in the bathroom WITH the troll. Then you ran INTO the bathroom with the troll and took it down with a levitation charm. And you. You jumped ON the troll and stuck your wand up its nose. Are you INSANE?”

Many other adjectives, all far less appropriate, crossed Alicia Spinnet’s thoughts as she glared at the three first years, who cowered under the weight of her ire. Concern and worry bubbled inside the third-year’s chest. As the feeling rushed to her head, it boiled and swirled into righteous anger and frustration before it came out as scathing words.

If someone had told her a month ago that she would be this worked up over Harry Potter, Alicia probably wouldn’t have believed them. But the first-year boy quickly became something like a friend to her. She imagined her father would tease her about adopting another firstie. “First Katie, now Harry Potter himself.” She imagined he’d say.

It was Halloween, and Harry had just stepped into the common room after fighting a bloody troll, and Alicia wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or hex the daylight out of him.

Angelina stood at Alicia’s side, nodding along and staring down at the three eleven-year-olds. Katie just watched the proceedings with the countenance of someone unable to look away from a car crash. The twins were trying, and failing, to stifle their laughter. Oliver just watched the proceedings cautiously, as if waiting for someone to spontaneously combust.

“We couldn’t let anything happen to Hermione,” Harry argued, his emerald eyes hard and resolute. “We didn’t have a choice.”

“He has a point,” Fred muttered, while George nodded. “Who knows what might have happened to Hermione otherwise?” The girl in question looked mighty uncomfortable watching Alicia and Harry argue over her. Alicia turned and glared at the twins.

“Don’t get me started on you two,” Alicia snarled. “How did neither of you notice that your little brother was missing, along with his best friend?”

The twins looked like they’d been slapped, and their ears turned to match their hair. She regretted the words as soon as they’d left her mouth, but her anger wouldn’t let her apologise. Before George could form an angry retort, he was beaten by Ron.

“Hey! Don’t yell at them!” The youngest Weasley son made himself known. His hands were balled up at his sides, and his face was an indignant shade of red. His features were screwed up in a righteous scowl. Alicia was impressed that he only slightly faltered when she turned her scorching gaze on him. “Like Harry said, we couldn’t bloody well leave Hermione there, could we? There was no other way!”

“There’s always another way,” Oliver said diplomatically before Alicia’s face could purple any further. “All of us were at the feast too, Harry, Ron. So was Percy. You could’ve spoken to us. We could’ve helped you. Instead, you risked your life without thinking it through.” Harry looked sufficiently cowed now that even the easygoing Oliver was chastising him. Ron, though he still looked angry, didn’t retort. Oliver turned to Alicia.

“They did what they thought was right at the moment, and they had a good reason,” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Everyone’s safe now, including Hermione. I think you’re being too harsh on them. And what you said to the twins was way out of line.”

Alicia glared at Oliver, and she opened her mouth to show him what harsh really meant, but decided against it. She glanced at Harry, who flinched when their eyes met, and the fire in her chest puttered out. Her shoulders slumped, and she rubbed her temples. She turned to the twins, who still looked unhappy with her. “Sorry, Fred, George. I was out of line, you know I didn’t mean it,” Alicia gave them a weak grin. “You two are still terrible influences, but you’re not at fault here.” Fred and George looked mollified.

“We’ll accept your apology,” Fred began with an opportunistic sparkle in his eye.

“On one condition,” George continued, quickly catching onto his twin’s plan.

“You take yourself off the immunity list,” Fred finished with a challenging smirk. “And we’ll forgive you.”

The Weasley Prank Immunity list was a list of students whom the twins weren’t allowed to prank. Alicia and Angelina had made it in their first year and forced the twins to sign and adhere to it under threat of violence. Over the three years that the girls had known the twins, the list, which till then had only included its creators, expanded only once. When Katie became a reserve chaser with Alicia and Angelina, they added her to the list, much to the beaters’ dismay.

“I’m not that sorry,” Alicia shook her head, and her lips quirked into a smirk. “One prank, that’s all I’ll allow.” The twins looked like Christmas came early. A look passed between them that made Alicia sure she would regret that decision.

She turned to the first three years. Hermione looked a little calmer now that no one was actively yelling. Ron stood awkwardly as if waiting for an opening to leave, and Harry just looked like a kicked puppy. He flinched when her gaze landed on him, and he stared down at his shoes. Alicia’s heart squeezed in her chest when he refused to look at her. The anger had ebbed away now, leaving only worry and guilt.

Alicia grabbed Harry and pulled him into a fierce hug. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she whispered, before sitting back in her chair. Now Harry just looked confused.

The trio of first years stood awkwardly before they made to sit somewhere else, but Alicia stopped them. “Where do you think you’re going? I’m not letting you out of my sight. Otherwise, you might just go wrestle a werewolf. Still haven’t forgotten about the bloody midnight duel you accepted.”

A few weeks ago, Angelina told Alicia that she’d heard the Malfoy twerp challenge Harry to a duel at midnight. Angelina intervened and scared off the Slytherins and then pointed out to Harry and Ron that this was clearly a trap. Alicia had thought the whole thing was hilarious at the time. But now, she wondered whether Harry was some kind of adrenaline junkie, and what that meant for her stress levels.

She patted the cushion next to her, and the first years sat down somewhat reluctantly. A plate of food from the feast appeared on each of their laps. Ron’s stomach growled loudly, and he dug in without hesitation.

“Sorry,” Harry said meekly, before picking at his food. He avoided Alicia’s gaze and responded to the rest of the team rather shortly. Alicia frowned and looked helplessly at her friends, who merely shrugged in response.

The first years quickly cleared their plates, chattering quietly among themselves. Hermione excused herself, saying that she was exhausted after a very long day. Ron went back for seconds before getting dragged into a Quidditch debate with Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown. Harry looked like he too wanted to run up the stairs, but stayed rooted in his seat, trying to blend into the cushions.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Fred chimed in, with his trademark grin that promised nothing but trouble.

“Who wants to hear about the dungbomb we set off in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom stall?” finished the other twin, matching his brother’s expression. Silence rang through the group.

“What’s a dungbomb?” Harry looked at the twins, to resounding groans from the rest of the team.

“Well, Harrykins, since you asked so nicely,” the twin sitting on the left said, as the one on the right reached into his bag. Angelina smacked them both over the head.

“George, get your hand out of your bag and I swear to Merlin if I see a dung bomb in your hand, I will shove it up your arse.”

The newly identified George pouted. His hand snaked out of his bag, and he held them up in the air in a placating gesture.

Angelina, who was glaring at George, didn’t notice Fred reaching into the bag on the floor and picking up a small green pellet. Fred tossed the pellet into Angelina’s face, and it exploded in a cloud of acrid green smoke. Alicia winced as Angelina gagged and sputtered. Immediately, the twins stepped away from her and began to retreat.

Once she regained her bearings, Angelina let out an enraged roar and began chasing the twins around the common room. Alicia thought Angelina looked like a rampaging rhino, shoving chairs and tables out of the way as she pursued the fleeing boys.

“What was that?” Harry asked, watching the commotion. Alicia watched with amusement as he winced when Angelina kicked a chair into George’s path, and he tripped into Fred. The twins went tumbling to the ground.

“Stink pellet,” Katie wrinkled her nose. She had been sitting closest to Angelina and had caught the strongest blast of the cloud. “One of the twins’ favourite joke items.”

Alicia watched as Katie reached into the twins’ bag. She rummaged around for a moment, pulling out another stink pellet. She tossed it to Angelina, who caught it with practised ease. The older girl took a deep breath before plugging her nose with her free hand. She dropped the green pellet and crushed it, and a plume of green smoke enveloped the twins’ heads.

Satisfied by the cycle of winded breathing, gagging, and retching, Angelina dropped back into her chair and sat cross-legged with a smug grin. Alicia shook her head as the twins approached the group again, both patting Angelina’s shoulder with grudging respect as they passed.

George walked past Angelina and flopped unceremoniously on the couch, landing on Alicia. Her nostrils were assaulted by the overwhelming stench of rotten eggs. She let out an undignified shriek before shoving George off her, onto Harry. Harry’s face also scrunched up as he got a whiff of the stink.

For the first time that night, Harry looked at Alicia, a spark of mischief in his eye. Alicia nodded slightly with a wide smile on her face that was full of humour and a tinge of relief.

Abruptly, Alicia and Harry stood up from the couch, sending George tumbling once more. The redhead groaned on the ground, where he was sprawled on his stomach.

“Abusive, the lot of you,” George rolled over and stood up, then flopped into his chair. “Feeling better, Harry?”

“Yeah, loads. I just don’t like it when you’re all mad at me.” Harry spoke in a small voice, and Alicia frowned. Once again, guilt gnawed at her. She really needed to get her temper in check.

“We’re not mad at you, Harry.” Alicia punched him lightly in the shoulder, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring look. “I was just worried. If you get yourself hurt, who am I going to get to fly into Oliver whenever he’s being a prat?”

“I’m sure Fred and George can be convinced,” Harry grinned at her, and Alicia was glad to see he was back to his normal, cheeky self. “Maybe even Angelina. My heart would stop if I saw her flying straight for me.”

“Are you calling me large, Harry?” Angelina raised an eyebrow, and the corner of her lip twitched, betraying her amusement. “Trust me when I say that’s the last thing you want to say to a woman. You won’t need this advice for a few years yet, but you’ll do good to remember that.”

Alicia snickered as Harry’s cheeks flushed, and he stammered out an excuse. Angelina threw her head back and laughed. She then leaned over and pinched his cheeks. This, of course, only served to fluster Harry further, sending Alicia into another bout of laughter.

The group of friends sat together and talked about inconsequential things such as schoolwork and Quidditch (though Oliver would disagree that Quidditch could ever be inconsequential). Oliver answered a few of Harry’s questions about the levitation charm essay that Harry had yet to complete, and Alicia promised to help Katie master the Reparifarge spell. Alicia suggested that they go to bed when Harry nearly fell asleep on her. That was when Oliver announced that they would have practice the next morning.

“Since when do we have practice on Sundays?” Katie poked Oliver in the ribs, and he jumped in his seat. “It’s Halloween, give us a break, you bastard.”

“Our first game is in two weeks,” Oliver grinned at Harry, who looked somewhere between excited and nauseous if his pale face and fidgeting hands were any indicator. “We’ve got to train up our secret weapon. He’s already on par with the other seekers, but I think we can do better than being just as good. Plus, no one else wanted the pitch, so I was able to book it pretty easily.”

“I wonder why no one wanted to book the pitch,” Katie glared. “Maybe because it’s the day after Halloween, Oliver .”

The boy in question grinned weakly. When he saw his chasers glaring at him (Katie was even holding her wand), he mumbled a quick good night before grabbing his things and hastily retreating to his dorm. The heated gaze of his chasers followed him till he was out of their view.

A few minutes later, Harry Potter found himself in his bed with the curtains drawn. He stared up at the pockmarks and graffiti on the roof of his four-poster bed as he processed the day’s events. Even thinking about the troll made his heart pound faster against his chest. Even worse was the involuntary shudder that passed through him at the thought of the ferocity with which Alicia had called his name when he walked through the portrait.

When he saw the anger in her eyes, he was terrified. He thought she’d react the way the Dursleys had whenever he displeased them. He thought she’d yell at him, call him names, and maybe even hit him. She had certainly yelled at him and had even questioned his sanity.

Though, in retrospect, Harry had to admit that chasing down a troll without any help had not been his sanest moment.

Harry knew how to handle anger. It was a skill he’d picked up long ago from living with the Dursleys. But afterwards, Alicia hugged him and said she was glad he was safe. That was not something he was used to. When he looked at his teammates, it wasn’t anger that looked back at him. It was concern.

And he had no idea what to do with concern. It was difficult for him to even comprehend that someone looked at him the way Aunt Petunia looked at Dudley whenever he scraped his knee or came down with the flu. It felt foreign. But good.

A small voice in the back of Harry’s mind wondered how long it would last. How long till he drove them away? How long till they realised he was a freak, just like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had so long ago?

Harry shook his head free of his incessant concerns and placed his glasses on his nightstand. Doubt plagued his thoughts, but luckily, he fell asleep rather quickly despite them. It had, in fact, been quite a long day, and Harry was knackered.

Much like Harry, Hogwarts had thoroughly exhausted itself on Halloween, staff and students alike. And that was without the troll. As a result, classes were cancelled for the day. Most of the constituents of the castle were asleep in their beds and would be for quite some time. Most, except for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, who trudged down the grass to the pitch. Angelina and Oliver wore workout clothes, but the remaining team members were still in their pyjamas.

The students almost ran into the locker room to escape the mounting chill that came with the turn of the season. Katie had decided not to throw a jumper over her pyjamas and was sorely regretting it. She rubbed her arms as she turned the corner into the girls’ changing rooms.

Just over an hour later, Harry and the team had finished their physical training. He grinned as he rummaged through his locker, pulling out a thin, long parcel. He unwrapped the brand-new broom Professor McGonagall had delivered to him at breakfast that morning and looked at it reverently.

Harry held the new Nimbus 2000 in his hands and frowned. The broom felt cold and foreign. Compared to the school broom he’d been using before, which had almost vibrated with energy. There was no spark of electricity from his broom that he felt from the school ones. He could feel the magic, but it didn’t feel as welcoming as the older ones.

He really hoped the broom worked properly.

Harry was knocked out of his thoughts by a tap on the shoulder. Katie stood behind him, eyeing his Nimbus with barely contained excitement.

“D’you think I could take her for a spin?” Katie nodded at the broom in his hand. Harry couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm.

“Her?”

“She’s a she, obviously,” she rolled her eyes as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Harry snorted.

“Sure, you can fly her around for a bit after practice is over.”

Behind them, Oliver walked out of the changing room and beckoned to his players. Groaning and grumbling, yet excited to hit the air, the team exited the lockers. Oliver was walking backwards, explaining the day’s practice itinerary.

“So, we’ve been working on positional awareness so far, and I think we’re getting good at not getting in each other’s way.” Oliver grinned proudly. “For a couple of reserves and a firstie, I think that’s pretty damn good.”

Harry had learned that Oliver was the only returning member from last year’s active roster. Alicia, Angelina, Katie, and the twins were on the reserve team last year.

“Now that we’ve got that part down, we’re going to work on the opposite,” Oliver sought out the chasers with his eyes. “Girls, your teamwork has been steadily improving. You’ve all established roles within your unit and are already looking like the best chaser trio at Hogwarts.”

The three girls grinned at each other. Angelina put Katie in a headlock and ruffled her hair as the younger girl flailed about helplessly. The three chasers were best friends on and off the pitch and had been practising together as the reserve chasers for the entirety of last year. Their chemistry was phenomenal as a result, despite never having played together in an official match.

“Fred, George, your bludger precision is looking deadly,” Oliver nodded at the twins. “You’re both getting a lot better at predicting where your opponents will be, and you rarely hinder your teammates with your hits.”

The twins returned Oliver’s compliments with devilish grins, and Harry felt that the other three Hogwarts teams would soon come to fear that look.

“Harry, your improvement has been incredible to watch,” Oliver grinned at the first year, who flushed under the attention. “Your snitch catch times are consistently improving, and you’re getting much better at playing around your teammates. Your multitasking is also getting really good.” Oliver counted off his fingers. “You’re looking like you’ll rival even Charlie in a year or so, and all that without knowing what Quidditch was only two months ago!”

Harry tried not to think about Charlie Weasley. Charlie was the superstar seeker who graduated two years ago. He had led his team and house to many a Quidditch cup during his tenure. Harry had overheard some older students talking about Charlie. They didn’t think Harry could live up to him, and honestly, neither did Harry. Harry hated being trapped under the shadow of the older boy. He didn’t think he could surpass Charlie, but the desire not to be a burden to the team spurred him on during practice.

“Now, we’re going to work on interference plays,” Oliver explained his plan to turn Harry into a human bludger. Until Harry saw the snitch, he was to be a nuisance, flying at opponents and breaking their formations, all without touching the quaffle or the keeper. In turn, the chasers would try to help him fight off the opposing seeker when he saw the snitch.

Soon, the team was in the air and running drills. Harry was pitted against the chasers. He was to disrupt their formations while searching for the snitch. Once he found it, they would switch, and the chasers would try to prevent him from catching it. The twins flew around, supporting Harry with the occasional bludger, until he saw the snitch, at which point they would turn on him. They would reset every time Harry caught the snitch or the chasers scored a goal.

Harry found it odd that after weeks of practising to avoid interfering with the chasers’ plays, he was being told to mess up their formations. He was often jealous of the camaraderie that the three girls had and didn’t think anything could interfere with the teamwork they displayed, least of all him.

Harry pursued the chaser trio who were heading to the left side of the pitch. They weren’t at full speed as they passed the quaffle to each other, allowing Harry to catch up with them easily. He accelerated ahead of Angelina, who held the quaffle, climbing so that he was above the older girl. Angelina signalled to Katie and Alicia, who spread out. Alicia accelerated slightly while Katie swung wide to the left.

Harry saw Angelina rear her arm back to throw to Alicia. He knew that if he tried to block Angelina’s vision, she would just delay her pass, and Alicia would likely still make the catch. Making up his mind, he accelerated to get ahead of Angelina. When he saw her shoulders tense, he swooped down in front of and past Alicia, obscuring her vision. The only thing he saw amid his blurry surroundings was the smirk on Alicia’s face as he sent her hair flying behind him. Thinking Angelina had delayed the pass, Harry looked back at her to see the girl flying toward him with both hands on her broom.

Angelina had the best-throwing arm out of the chasers and was particularly good at creating scoring opportunities with her precise and powerful passes. That was why Harry was surprised to see her flying toward him empty-handed. Alicia was a stalwart defender and very good at creating space for her teammates to play with. As the girls approached him, Harry realised that Alicia and Angelina had done their jobs to perfection, creating a gap and an opportunity for the third chaser: the wild card.

Katie swooped from underneath, catching the quaffle that Angelina had dropped during her feint, and rocketed past him toward the penalty box. Alicia overtook him, gleefully laughing all the way to her teammates. He chased them, but the girls were already at the penalty box, taking shot after shot at Oliver. The Keeper blocked a good three shots before one finally went in.

Harry congratulated the girls as they flew back to the line of scrimmage.

The play reset, but before the girls could get back into formation, Harry saw a glint of gold under the teacher’s stands. “SNITCH,” he yelled before leaning forward and accelerating. The wind rushed past him and stung his eyes, but he kept his eyes on the distant glint of gold. Harry felt a rush of wind to his right and pointed his broom down, feeling the bludger whoosh past him. Other than the wind, Harry heard a rustle above him. After committing the snitch’s location to memory, Harry risked a glance above and saw Angelina grinning down at him.

“My turn!”

He heard more rustling to his sides and took the educated guess that the other two chasers were on his flanks. He looked back at the snitch and let out a sigh of relief when he spotted it near the commentator’s booth. The rustling got louder and louder, and he could feel the chasers closing in on him. As they got closer, Harry realised that they were trying to box him in. If they could surround him, they could dictate his movement, stopping him from freely chasing the snitch. In a game, that would all but guarantee a loss.

Harry knew that because they were chasing him , he would have a split-second decision-making advantage. Knowing this, he accelerated his broom to the highest it would go. The girls accelerated to keep up. While his broom was faster than theirs, the difference wasn’t enough to leave them behind. His Nimbus’ strengths lay elsewhere.

When Harry felt that the girls were flying too fast to turn in time, he noted the location of the snitch and pulled his broom, leaning as far back as he could. He felt the wind batter against his chest and sting his eyes as the midair braking charms that the Nimbus 2000 was known for worked their magic. Harry used his body like the sails on an old ship, putting as much of his form against the wind to slow himself down. His robes fluttered in the wind like a scarlet parachute. The chasers went careening right past him. Before they could react and correct course, Harry curved around them and zoomed toward the snitch.

The girls gained on him again, but the advantage he had given himself was just enough. He increased the space between himself and the girls and closed in on the snitch. Once again, he felt the wind whoosh to his left and rolled under a bludger that nearly clipped his ear. He took a hand off the broom and held it outstretched before him. A strand of his hair stuck to his face and tickled his nose. Ignoring the irritating sensation, Harry reached out as far as he could. Nearly pressed flat against his broom, Harry strained forward, stretching his arms as far as they were able. Finally, his fingertips touched cool metal, and golden wings flapped against his palm as he wrapped his fingers around the snitch.

He slowed down, taking deep breaths as his body caught up with him. The girls surrounded him as Oliver blew his whistle and gestured to the ground. The bludgers fell limp into the grass.

“That was SO COOL,” Katie gushed, grinning widely. Her blonde hair was sticking out at odd angles, and her face was flushed. Harry’s cheeks burned under the praise. “How does your broom brake so fast?”

“When I turned around, I thought you were going to fall off your broom.” Angelina grinned at him as her feet met the ground. She plucked a few stray leaves out of her braids. “You looked like you were riding a bucking horse back there.

Harry laughed as he landed softly, hoisting his broom over his shoulder. A spark of warmth rushed up his arm. It felt stronger than it had been when he first held it, but it was still weaker than the school broom had been. “Angelina, do you know if brooms are alive?”

Angelina just blinked at him as the rest of the team landed around them. “I don’t think so. I mean, they’re just charmed pieces of wood, right?”

“Well, Hogwarts is just a pile of rocks, but people still say the castle is alive,” Oliver said, patting his players on the shoulder as he passed them. “If you’re really curious, you should ask Flitwick. He might know more.”

Harry stared down at his broom and resolved to do just that. His Nimbus felt almost foreign in his hands. It reminded Harry of one early morning two days ago. He woke up in the morning to the blaring sound of Neville’s alarm. He groped around in the semi-darkness for his wand to shut the blasted thing off. Not wearing his glasses, he grabbed the first wooden stick he could find and tapped it against the alarm. The alarm had stopped, but the wand felt hollow in his hand. It felt unbalanced and made his palm feel unpleasantly warm. When he put his glasses on, he realised he was holding Neville’s wand instead of his own.

Neville’s wand.

A wand unsuited to him.

The dots connected in his head. Were brooms like wands? Did certain brooms work better for certain wizards? Did that mean his broom was ill-suited for him?

He felt horrible at the thought that the second gift he’d ever got (other than Hedwig) might not work for him. He paled at the thought of the look on McGonagall’s face if he told her he wanted to use a school broom over the Nimbus she’d got him. Not to mention how Oliver would react.

Harry half listened to Oliver, who was talking to the team about the drill they had just completed. He clenched the Nimbus tighter. While the school broom pulsed with magic, Harry’s broom just felt like a piece of wood. It still worked perfectly fine. But it didn’t feel right . He resolved to speak to Professor Flitwick as soon as he could.

Harry was broken out of his reverie by Katie, who walked up to him and looked at him expectantly. Harry looked at her with confusion before he noticed her eyes flitting between him and the Nimbus in his hand. He grinned and held it out to her. She accepted it with an absently muttered thanks as she hopped on and took to the sky.

After Katie, the rest of the team also wanted to try his new broomstick, and Harry spent most of the early morning watching and cheering for his teammates as they pulled off increasingly outlandish stunts on the top-of-the-line broom.

“Those of you who were not able to cast the wand-lighting charm will write me five inches on the mistakes you were making and how you’re going to correct them moving forward,” Flitwick surveyed the class, pausing on Harry, who stood near the front, with his bag still at his desk. “The rest of you, have a great weekend. Our first Quidditch game of the season is the day after tomorrow, on Saturday. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Always a great matchup. It will be a fun game, I’m sure. I hope I’ll see you all there.”

After all his classmates had left the Charms classroom, Harry waved off Ron and Hermione, who were waiting for him. His friends left the room, and the door swung shut behind them. Harry turned to his professor, who watched him curiously from his raised seat.

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, professor,” Harry wrung his hands, thinking of the best way to approach his theory. “I had some questions about the charms on riding brooms.”

“Ah, yes, broom magic is one of the more popular applications of enchantment,” The tiny professor nodded excitedly. “Many of my former students have found great success in the industry. Very lucrative, yes, yes. Were you having trouble with your broom, Mr. Potter? Professor McGonagall mentioned that you joined your house team. You must be very excited, what with your first game this weekend.”

“Yes, sir, I’m very excited to play on Saturday. But no, my broom seems to be working fine.” Harry thought about how to phrase the question without sounding dumb. “Sir, are brooms alive?”

“That is a very complicated question, Mr. Potter. Can you elaborate on what you mean by alive?”

Harry scratched his chin. “I guess something like a wand, sir. When I met Mr. Ollivander, he said that the wand chose the wizard. He talked as if they were alive and could choose their master.” He paused and thought about how to best phrase his question. “I guess what I’m asking is whether a broom can reject an owner. Kind of like a wand.”

“While I do not claim to be an expert on wand-making, I believe that the wand selection process is more complex than some kind of arbitrary preference. Wands have different cores, woods, and measurements. These components all add qualities to the wand.” Flitwick held his wand in his hand, and Harry noticed that the wand was smaller than his own and was also a much lighter shade of brown.

“You might remember, Mr. Potter, that when he gave you your wand, Mr. Ollivander might have told you certain types of magic that your wand would be good for. Do you remember?” Harry nodded. Flitwick seemed very excited to be discussing such a topic with a student. It was very rare that a first-year student took an interest in such an abstract type of magic.

“He said my mum’s wand was good for charmswork.”

“I’m not surprised at all. No, Lily was quite the prodigious student in my class. It is truly one of my biggest regrets that she decided to pursue a career in potions instead of charms,” Flitwick shook his head ruefully, grinning at Harry, who drank in the information about his mother. The young boy was surprised to hear that Flitwick knew his mother. He wondered if the professor would tell him stories about her another time. “But yes. Each component that makes up a wand gives it certain qualities it looks for when ‘choosing’ an owner. But that is not to say that the wand itself is alive.”

“So that means a wand isn’t actually alive? Some wands just have parts that are better suited for certain people. Are brooms also like that?”

“No, Mr. Potter. Wands are usually custom-made. For example, Mr. Ollivander is very proud of the fact that his wands are all one of a kind. On the other hand, brooms are mass-produced. Your broom has the exact measurements, enchantments, and materials as every other broom of its make,” Flitwick shook his head. “As a result, brooms are designed to avoid the scenario you’re suggesting.”

“So, all brooms should work the same for everyone, then?” Harry mused, more to himself than anything. “Then why…”

“Mr. Potter, has something happened with your broom that has led to this conversation?” Flitwick raised an eyebrow. Harry nodded and told Flitwick about his Nimbus and how it felt dull compared to the school brooms.

“Hmm. I think I may have an idea of what your problem is. First, may I have a look at your broom? I would like to make sure what you’re feeling is not some sort of prank.”

With Harry’s nod of assent, Flitwick called for someone named Floppy. A small creature appeared between them with an audible pop.

The creature was smaller than Flitwick. It had large bat-like ears and was dressed in a tea towel with the Hogwarts crest sewn where a breast pocket would be. Large eyes the size of tennis balls flitted back and forth between the other occupants of the room.

“Floppy, would you mind going down to the Quidditch pitch and getting us Mr. Potter’s broomstick?” The tiny creature nodded and disappeared with a soft pop. A minute later, it reappeared, holding Harry’s Nimbus carefully in its tiny palms. Flitwick took the broomstick and smiled at the creature. “Thank you, Floppy, that is all.”

The creature disappeared again, and Harry stared at the spot it had disappeared from.

“Professor, what – who was that?”

“That was Floppy, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick answered absently. He looked over Harry’s Nimbus. “She is a house elf who works for Hogwarts. House elves are creatures that live to serve wizards. They’re quite clever and immensely loyal and devoted to their masters.”

Flitwick pulled out his wand and waved it over the broomstick in a multitude of complicated patterns. The broom was still for a few seconds before it began glowing. First, it glowed a dull white before the bristles emitted a soft yellow light. The saddle and foot guards glowed a pale blue before Flitwick tapped the broom, and it lurched onto the professor’s desk. Then, the lights faded away.

“Your broom is in perfect working condition, Mr. Potter. No hexes or jinxes, and the only enchantments I’ve found are the ones that are supposed to be there.” Flitwick returned the broom to Harry, who was disappointed to feel the same emptiness when he held it. “Now, we shall discuss what I believe is my theory for why your broom feels awkward. First, could you describe what you feel when you hold your broom, and why you believe it to be odd? What is your frame of reference?”

“Frame of reference, sir?”

“What are you comparing the sensation to? What makes you think that this sensation isn’t normal?”

“Oh, well. The best way I can describe it is that it feels like I’m using someone else’s wand,” Harry rambled through the story of the time he’d used Neville’s wand. “I mean, the broom works well. It’s fast. Brakes and turns well, too. But the school brooms I used during flying lessons felt completely different.” Harry was pacing now, and Flitwick watched him with barely concealed mirth.

“I felt like there was something other than myself controlling the broom. Like it was reading my thoughts and doing what I wanted it to before I could ask. Neville’s wand felt like it was… rejecting me, and the school broom felt like it was accepting me as its user. Just like my wand,” Harry paused, and his eyes were screwed shut in concentration. “But my broom, it just feels empty.”

The professor’s eyes flashed with recognition. When Harry turned back to his professor, Flitwick held before him two feathers.

“Mr. Potter, can you hold both of these feathers for me, and tell me if you feel something?”

Harry took the feathers in each hand, weighing them against each other. Physically, they looked and felt identical. However, the one in his left hand buzzed with a vibration that he would not have felt if he hadn’t been searching for it. Once he took notice, the vibration became more prominent, and warmth prickled his palm. The feather didn’t seem to be rejecting him like Neville’s wand had, but it wasn’t accepting him either. It felt neutral, just like his broom.

“Professor, this one feels warmer,” Harry lifted the feather on the right, and Flitwick’s face split into a wide grin, showing sharp teeth. Harry supposed there might be some truth to the rumours about his goblin ancestry after all. “It feels foreign, just like my broom.”

“That feather you are holding, Mr. Potter, has an anti-summoning charm on it. I needed a charm that wouldn’t leave any physical evidence because I wanted to see if you would be able to detect the magic without using your physical senses.” By now, Flitwick was bouncing in his seat. His excitement was contagious, and Harry felt himself break out into a confused grin. “It seems that you have a high sensitivity to magic, Harry. That means that you can detect spells and enchantments, and with some practice, even identify them and their caster.”

“Sir, does that mean that what I feel from my broom is the enchantments that are placed on it?” Harry’s eyes lit up as all his theories and ideas connected and began to make sense. “Someone else must have enchanted my broom, so am I recognising their magic? Is that why it feels foreign?”

At Flitwick’s nod, Harry continued pacing. “But unlike a wand, my broom won’t choose an owner, so it doesn’t actually affect my flying.” He turned and looked straight at Flitwick. “But, sir, why do the school brooms feel so natural then? Those were also enchanted by someone else.”

“To explain that, Harry, I have to explain to you a basic concept of enchanting. Now, this is usually taught in N.E.W.T. level charms, but I have never been one to discourage curiosity, so I will tell you a simplified version.” Flitwick paused, and Harry could see the cogs whirring in the professor’s head. “Enchantments are not magic in themselves, but they are sustained by magic. For lack of a better term, they feed on the magic of their surroundings. That’s why many wards and enchantments on abandoned buildings or objects fade after time.”

Harry nodded, frowning in concentration. “So, when I cast the levitation charm, it eats some of my magic and uses it to maintain the spell?”

“Precisely! When a broom-maker enchants a broom, the charms are sustained using the maker’s magic. But when you use the broom, it starts using your innate magic to power itself instead.” Flitwick waved his wand, and drawings appeared on a nearby chalkboard of a blue stick figure riding a red broom. Next to them, a red figure stood holding a wand. The colour of the broom changed from red to blue, matching the rider.

“Over time, the broom will stop using the maker’s magic entirely and use only yours. Once that happens, the broom will, as you put it, accept you as its owner. Then, instead of the enchanter’s magic, you will feel your own.”

Flitwick paused for a moment as Harry processed the new information. Harry felt like his head would burst, and he struggled to keep up with the intelligent professor.

“Like a pet, professor?” Harry asked, his eyes widening in understanding. “When I bought my owl Hedwig from the emporium, she didn’t trust me until I started taking care of her and giving her treats. She would have associated the store workers with treats. But now, over time, as I kept feeding her, she came to associate me with them instead. She accepted me over them.”

Harry was bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes glittering excitedly. Flitwick nodded exuberantly. “Exactly, Mr. Potter. A perfect analogy, too! Take five points to Gryffindor.” Harry beamed.

“The school brooms, much like Hogwarts itself, are an anomaly. The school brooms are quite old, and hundreds of students have used them. From what we understand, the brooms consume magic from every person who uses them, but everyone uses the school brooms.” The drawing rippled, and the rider started changing colours. The broom kept changing to match the rider, before settling on a neutral white. “That means that while the broom has long since forgotten its enchanter, it hasn’t gained a new owner. The enchantment recognises no owner and thus treats everyone the same.”

Harry frowned. “So, the school brooms would listen to anyone the same, but my broom will only accept its owner, which will eventually become me. Oliver Wood swears by the same Cleansweep that he’s been using since his first year. He says that no other broom feels quite right. Does that mean he also has a high sensitivity to magic?”

“Not necessarily, Mr. Potter. As you said, your broom functions perfectly well even now, when you aren’t its recognised owner. The only reason you notice anything peculiar is because of your special talents. Such a high sensitivity is very rare. Many wizards can sense magical items, especially Muggleborns who grew up without magic and can distinguish between the magical and the mundane instinctively.” Flitwick looked nostalgic for a moment.

“They can only tell whether an object or location is magical, but they won’t notice anything else. You have already shown that you can distinguish magic from different sources. That is significantly rarer,”

Harry nodded. He was following along, if barely.

“Mr. Wood might be able to discern that his broom feels a lot more comfortable than others. That is because his broom is attuned to his magic, not because the other brooms are attuned against him. Do you understand the distinction, Mr. Potter?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry closed his eyes as his thoughts swam with broomsticks and complex magical theory. “So, if Hedwig were to run into me in the Great Hall, she’d be affectionate because she likes me.” Harry smiled fondly at the thought of his pet.

“When someone meets her for the first time, she won’t be affectionate or hostile, she’ll be neutral.” Harry’s eyes snapped open, and he looked straight at Flitwick, who gave him an encouraging smile. “But she’s pretty big-headed for an owl, so people might think she’s being hostile, compared to other owls. But I know her, and I know what she’s like when she actually is hostile, so I can tell when she isn’t.”

“But, if she ran into someone she didn’t like, say Malfoy,” Flitwick only chuckled, and Harry grinned wider, imagining Hedwig pecking at Malfoy’s hair. “She might be outright hostile.”

Now Harry paused, struggling to relate his rambling analogy to brooms.

“So, when Oliver rides his Cleansweep, the broom feels good. But because he compares all brooms to his Cleansweep, the other ones make him feel bad,” Harry snapped his fingers. “But they’re not, they just don’t make him feel anything at all, and so he thinks it’s bad. But I can feel when the broom feels bad, because it doesn’t accept me. We think we’re feeling the same thing, but it's different because I can feel more sensitively, is that right?”

Harry was gesturing wildly, and Flitwick was nodding, confirming everything Harry was saying. “The broom isn’t against me, but its magic doesn’t recognise me yet, and unlike other people with new brooms, I notice that because of my sensitivity to magic!”

“Exactly, Mr. Potter!” Flitwick looked overjoyed that Harry had understood. “And a phenomenal analogy too, using your pet owl to understand a magical concept. Take five points for some excellent critical thinking! I do hope you take Arithmancy in your third year, I think you and Professor Vector would get along well.”

Harry didn’t know what Arithmancy was but resolved to ask Hermione later. He was too mentally drained to absorb any new information.

“Thank you for your help, Professor,” Harry grinned. “So, how would I make my broom accept me, then?”

“Well, simply use it, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick said, handing the broom back to Harry. “And because brooms have small charms that are active at all times, like anti-rotting charms, even proximity will help if only a tiny amount.”

“Thank you so much, Professor, you’ve been helpful,” Harry grinned at the professor, who smiled back. “About my magical perception. If I can use it to identify spells, I imagine that would be a useful skill to have. Do you know how I can learn it? Could you teach me?”

“Alas, your particular talent is quite a rare one. I don’t know any with your talents that are still among the living,” Flitwick’s cheery disposition darkened for a moment before he shook it off. “However, I did have the honour of having a close personal and professional relationship with the last person I knew to have such high magical perception, so I might be able to provide you with some modicum of guidance.”

“Who was it, professor? The last person you knew who was like me?”

“Why, Mr. Potter, it was a student named Lily Evans. Though you would likely know her as Lily Potter.”

Chapter Text

The occupants of Hogwarts Castle, teachers and students alike, loved to sleep in on weekends. Very rarely would one find more than a handful of people in the Great Hall before ten in the morning. Today was one of those rare occasions.

The first Quidditch match of the 1991-92 season was due to begin in less than two hours. What appeared to be the entire school was in the Great Hall, and the cavernous room seemed to vibrate with the anticipation of the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match-up.

At the Gryffindor table, Katie Bell felt on the verge of throwing up. Angelina, Alicia, Fred, and George were all taking the pressure in stride. The other two chasers sat across from the two youngest members of the team, trying to coax food into them. Alicia had given a shaking Harry a piece of toast and was trying to talk him into eating it, with minimal success. Angelina had given up on words and force-fed Katie a spoonful of eggs.

This was Katie’s first official game of Quidditch. She thought she would be ready, that a match would be just like practice. This team had been practising together for over a year now. She thought she could handle the pressure of playing with them in a competitive setting— she was terribly, terribly wrong. What little food she had eaten was doing somersaults in her stomach. Katie closed her eyes and took a sip of water.

She looked at Harry sitting beside her, ashen-faced and staring at his untouched toast. She wanted to tell him to eat something, but then looked at her plate. It was also left untouched.

Katie was many things, but a hypocrite was not one of them. She bit into a muffin and forced herself to swallow it. She looked at Harry, sitting next to her with an untouched plate. Katie tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to look at her.

“Eat.” She ordered. Harry’s eyes widened slightly, and he took a hurried bite of his toast before swallowing a little too quickly. “Chew next time.” She smirked, and he grinned weakly back. Alicia and Angelina watched the two with more than a little bit of laughter dancing on their faces.

At that moment, Oliver strutted into the hall. As had become routine before they went out to the pitch, Oliver stole a piece of toast off Katie’s plate. Oliver was Katie’s cousin, but she considered him more like an older brother. An unfortunate side effect of their sibling-esque relationship was his propensity for thieving from her plate. She was a growing girl and needed her food, damn it! Today, though, she didn’t even have the energy to reprimand him. All her mental faculties were being used to keep the muffin inside her stomach.

Oliver watched her and Harry for a moment before he decided they had eaten as much as they were capable. He made himself a quick sandwich before getting up and grabbing his players’ attention. “Shall we head to the pitch?” He received a few grumbles and grunts of affirmation.

The walk to the pitch felt slower than usual. Harry and Katie trailed behind the group. She couldn’t tell what Harry was thinking, but if his thoughts went anywhere along the same lines are hers, he was considering running back up to Gryffindor Tower and hiding there till the match was over. When the team reached the door to the lockers, she noticed her breathing becoming increasingly shallow. She forced herself to take deep, slow breaths to combat the building pressure at the base of her skull.

The team went through the motions almost like normal. Alicia and Angelina teased and bantered like any other day, and she could hear the twins laughing about something from the boys’ changing rooms. Still, there was a heavy atmosphere when the team was sitting around, strapping their equipment. Oliver had dragged them out early in the morning for a jog and some stretches. A light warm-up to stretch their muscles and get in the right mindset, he’d claimed. Katie would never admit it to him, but it had helped.

She was broken out of her thoughts by a hand patting hers. She didn’t realise hers had been shaking till the hand touched hers. Sitting beside her, Harry leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed, but she could’ve sworn his cheeks were a bit pinker than usual. She squeezed his hand back, and when his eyes fluttered open, he grinned nervously. He smiled back, his face a bit more relaxed than it had been all morning.

“We’re all counting on you,” Katie smirked at Harry. “No pressure, though.”

Harry groaned, hitting the back of his head against the wall repeatedly. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Katie grinned at him, and he laughed.

“Sure about that?” Before Katie could retort, Oliver stood up from where he was sitting.

“Alright, team. I just wanted to say a few words before we go out there,” Oliver beckoned them toward him, and they formed a team huddle. Katie’s arms were around Harry on her right and Angelina on her left. Her fellow chaser grinned widely with a feral look in her eye, and Katie could only give a half-hearted nod in return. Oliver surveyed them, nodding approvingly at the third years, before stifling a laugh at the looks on her and Harry’s faces. “We’ve worked really hard, and I know it’s a lot of pressure to play the first game together. But we’ve worked our arses off, and we deserve this win more than anyone else. This is Harry’s first game of Quidditch, pickup or otherwise. Let’s make it a win for him. Gryffindor on three. One, two, three -”

“ — GRYFFINDOR! ” The team chorused. Katie glanced at her teammates and saw determination and resolve marring their features. Even the twins, who still had that constant look that they were sharing an inside joke, had a fire in their eyes. She imagined she looked much the same. To her right, Harry’s expression was guarded. Not quite as carefree as the rest of the team, but just as fierce.

The team stood around with their broomsticks in hand, waiting for Madam Hooch to call them onto the pitch. Angelina and Alicia approached Katie and threw an arm around her shoulders, trapping her between them. She noticed Alicia ruffle Harry’s hair with her free hand, much to his indignation.

“Ready for your first match, Katie-Kat?” Angelina asked with a grin, using Katie’s much-hated nickname. Katie glared at Angelina and stomped on the older girl’s foot, eliciting a yelp that was more surprise than pain.

“Katie-Kat?” Harry’s lip quivered with concealed laughter. Katie could only glare.

“I swear to Merlin, Harry,” She pointed at him in what she hoped was a threatening gesture. “If you ever call me that…”

“Alright, alright,” Harry held his hands up in a placating gesture, though his eyes still shone with mirth.

Just then, Madam Hooch’s voice rang through the locker rooms, asking the players to be ready to go out.

“Facing the reigning champions from Slytherin are TEAM GRYFFINDOR,” Lee Jordan’s voice echoed from outside the doors. “First, the captain and keeper, Oliver Wood!”

One by one, each player was called, and they went flying out. When their names were called, Katie followed Alicia and Angelina out the door, leaving Harry alone in the tent.

“— Bell! Last but not least is the seeker. Alicia Spinnet paid me five galleons to say this,” Lee chuckled, and Katie paused in the middle of a warm-up lap with her fellow chasers and looked at the announcer booth with confusion. “LAST BUT NOT LEAST, THE ROOKIE SEEKER, IT’S HARRY POTTER, GREEN LIGHTNING!”

Katie was laughing so hard, she feared she’d fall off her broom. She watched Harry fly through the doors, putting on a burst of speed as he shot straight for them. His face was beet red as he approached Alicia.

“You’re evil, you know that?” Harry glared at Alicia, who laughed.

“Am I now, Green Lightning?” Harry made a rude gesture before they flew over to the scrimmage line, where the rest of the team was assembled.

Katie landed next to Harry and threw her arm on his shoulder. “Why do you get a cool nickname, and I don’t?” Katie teased him, mock-pouting at him.

“What do you mean?” Harry looked at her innocently. “You have a nickname, right, Katie-Kat?”

“I hate you”, she ground out, her laughter vanishing.

“No, you don’t.” Harry grinned at her before turning back to Hooch’s speech.

“I want a clean game out of all of you, no cheap tricks,” she said, looking pointedly at the burly, vaguely troll-esque Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint, who didn’t even look sheepish. His beady eyes were locked on Oliver with unconcealed malice.

Hooch asked the players to get into position, and Katie watched Harry shoot up high into the air as the chasers formed a triangle around the centre of the pitch. Oliver, flexing his fingers after nearly getting them crushed by Flint’s ‘handshake’, made his way to the goalposts.

As Katie watched Hooch open the box, she took a heaving breath. Her nerves threatened to overwhelm her, and her controlled breathing was the only thing keeping them at bay.

Then, Hooch took the Quaffle in her hand, and Katie forgot all about her nerves as she zeroed in on the bright red ball. She knew she was the smallest and fastest flier on her team, so winning the initial contest would be on her.

She glanced at her fellow chasers; Angelina looked at her and nodded back. The older girl looked at Alicia, jerked her head in Flint’s direction, and pointed at herself, then at the other girl. Katie had been told that Flint was an egotistical git, and most likely to go for the contest, despite Pucey being the faster flyer.

Angelina then looked at Katie and gave her a thumbs up and a grin. At that exact moment, Hooch blew her whistle, and Katie turned just in time to see the Quaffle leave the professor’s hands.

Katie leaned forward on her broom, dashing for the quaffle from the right. She saw Pucey and Warrington, the other Slytherin chasers, fly at Angelina and Alicia. Both girls shot right for Flint, who was flying towards the quaffle.

Katie slipped under the commotion as Flint slowed, lest he crash into Angelina. She reached out her arm, and her hands found purchase in the rough leather that was the quaffle. She tucked it under her arm and cried, “Got it!” before breaking from the contest.

Within a moment, she felt two forms flying behind her as she flew for the goal. She knew it was her teammates because they didn’t try to get too close. She also noted the Slytherin chasers trying to lock her in from the left and right. A whirring sound came to her left, and Katie slowed down and ducked as a bludger flew at her from her right.

She needn’t have bothered because Fred swooped in and swung his bat with both hands, sending the bludger to George, who sent it right into Pucey, who had been trailing between her and Alicia.

She turned immediately and hucked the ball to Alicia, who caught it deftly, making another break for the hoops. Katie immediately veered to the left, taking Angelina’s mark with her. The older Slytherin cursed as he had to slow down to try to get between her and Alicia. Angelina dipped under Katie and her mark, breaking ahead as Alicia passed to her. The two girls passed the quaffle back and forth while Katie struggled to lose Warrington, who was doing a solid job preventing her from gaining any meaningful space.

By now, the play was approaching the penalty zone, and Katie saw the Slytherin keeper, Bletchley, tense up in preparation.

Alicia feinted a pass to an approaching Katie before passing to Angelina. Katie continued her path past her teammates, flying right past the keeper. She hoped that she’d be able to lose Warrington and distract the keeper, allowing Angelina to score. She turned around the hoops to see Angelina take a shot at the right hoop. It was narrowly blocked by Bletchley.

She also saw that Warrington was still by the right hoop. So had Alicia.

The two girls made eye contact before Alicia swooped down for the quaffle. Katie shot toward the bottom of the left hoop, just in time for Alicia to catch the quaffle and toss it right into her arms. Warrington was now circling back to her. He was now in front of her, but not close enough to be a problem.

Katie lined up the shot and chucked it straight in.

The crowd erupted as the girls took a victory lap around the pitch. Katie was grinning like a loon, certain the nerves were completely gone. Oliver yelled congratulations when she flew past him, and Harry swooped down to give her a high five. Angelina and Alicia slapped her on the back before getting back into position. The Slytherin keeper tossed the quaffle back into play, and the chasers rocketed forward once again.

The Slytherin chasers made a triangle formation as they approached the girls. They passed back and forth with no discernible pattern, though Katie noticed that Pucey always hesitated for an extra half-second before passing to Flint. Perhaps Pucey didn’t trust his captain. Katie smirked at the thought.

Katie looked at Angelina, who seemed to have come to the same conclusion. Angelina pointed at Warrington and gestured at Alicia, their best defender, to mark him. Katie flew up to Pucey and stayed close to his left. Pucey’s eyes kept flitting to Warrington, even though Katie and Alicia were primed to intercept a pass.

Pucey reared his arm back and hesitated before passing to Flint. The ball soared through the air, but the moment of hesitation was enough for Angelina to put herself in front of Flint and deny his attempted breakaway. The quaffle landed safely in Angelina’s arms, and without any hesitation, the lead chaser turned around and accelerated towards the Slytherin pitch.

Katie followed Angelina, but neither chaser made it far before a bludger flew right into Angelina’s arm, causing her to drop the quaffle as she cried out in pain. Katie tilted her broom downward toward the quaffle when she felt a large shoulder ram right into her ribs.

She gripped her broom for dear life as she veered to the side, nearly spinning into the stands. When she regained control, she realised that Flint had nearly shouldered her off her broom, allowing Pucey to recover the quaffle. With Angelina and Katie recovering from hits, and Alicia still preoccupied with Warrington, Flint and Pucey managed to double-team Oliver and score the first point for Slytherin.

Madam Hooch awarded Katie a penalty. Katie stared down Bletchley, the Slytherin keeper, as she approached him with the quaffle. She saw Bletchley staring back and noticed his broom slightly drifting to the right.

Katie picked up speed, darting toward the left hoop, and she saw Bletchley dive for the left hoop as she reared her arm back. Looking at his trajectory, she knew he would block her if she committed to the left hoop. So, with a snap of her wrist, she sent the quaffle toward the upper right of the centre hoop.

There was a loud CLANG as the ball glanced off the ring right into the hoop. The crowd roared as Katie took her victory lap, slapping hands and bumping fists as she passed her teammates. She made a rude gesture at Flint as she passed him.

As both teams put up numbers, Harry Potter soaked in the energy of the Quidditch pitch. Oliver had been right when he said Harry would have the best seat in the house. Harry watched Katie pass to Alicia and then fly at the older girl’s mark, letting her take a shot at the centre hoop. The quaffle went through the hoop to thunderous cheers from the non-Slytherin stands.

His nerves were still beating at the back of his mind, but being in the air had abated most of his reservations. Every time he felt a little too light-headed, Harry looked at the huge ‘Potter for President’ flag that Ron, Hermione, Seamus, and Dean were hoisting and felt a little braver.

Once the ball was back in play, Harry saw Angelina and Katie struggle to wrestle possession from Warrington and a quaffle-bearing Flint. He nose-dived in front of Warrington, isolating him from Flint so that Angelina and Katie could double-team him. As he climbed back into his elevated position, he watched Katie make yet another break with the quaffle. That was when he saw a glint of gold near the Slytherin chaser who was marking Katie.

Adrenaline coursed through Harry as he dived once more toward the play and hoped that the opposing seeker just thought he was making an interference play again.

“Has Potter seen the snitch? Yes, there it is! Right next to Pucey.”

Harry cursed as he flew faster toward the snitch. Pucey had slowed down to look at the snitch, allowing Katie to make a break and score. But the cheering was muted as everyone watched Harry and the snitch.

Harry was confident he could beat Higgs, the Slytherin seeker, to the snitch. Last he checked, his counterpart was near the other end of the pitch, and Harry had the advantage. He could see the snitch. It was only a few meters away – WHAM!

Harry went spinning, struggling to bring his Nimbus back under control. He nearly collided with Alicia, who had thankfully only been on a victory lap.

“Alright, Harry?” Alicia slowed to a stop as Harry readjusted his glasses. “That troll Flint nearly knocked you off your broom.”

Harry nodded and gave her a reassuring glance before climbing back into the air. Gryffindor had been given a penalty, and Alicia put it away with a flourish. Harry cheered when Alicia flew past. She grinned at him.

That was when his broom gained a mind of its own.

The laughter vanished from Alicia’s face as Harry was tossed about in the air by his broom. He imagined he looked like one of those bull riders at the rodeo. Harry yelped as his hand slipped and he nearly fell off. He wrapped his arms around the broom like a sloth as it jerked in the air.

Alicia reached out to him, fear and worry marring her features, but pulled her hand back when the broom lurched away. He saw her pull out her wand and cast red sparks into the air. Hooch’s whistle sounded as she flew over to them. Oliver followed behind her.

Immediately, the broom stopped flailing about. Harry paused, waiting for the broom to start tossing again, but it only floated calmly in the air. Tentatively, Harry loosened his grip and sat up straight.

“What’s going on?” Madam Hooch questioned. “Why was Potter flailing about earlier?”

Alicia shrugged. “Maybe a jinx on the broom? Or maybe Flint damaged it when he rammed into Harry earlier?” Neither Hooch nor Alicia seemed to believe Flint had hit Harry hard enough to damage his broom.

“Uh, I think it’s alright now?” Harry was royally confused. He was still holding the broomstick so hard that his knuckles were white, but he couldn’t feel the foreign magic trying to overwhelm the Nimbus.

“Potter, do you want to continue the match?” Hooch asked. Oliver looked outraged at the thought of stopping the game. So did Alicia, albeit for different reasons.

“Madam Hooch, Harry nearly died, surely he’s not going to continue playing.”

“I think I’m good to play, ‘Licia,” Harry floated over to the older girl and put a hand on her shoulder. “See? I’m in control now. Let’s win this game.”

Alicia and Oliver shared a look, and the keeper shrugged helplessly. She eyed Harry for a moment, and Harry saw his steely determination reflected in her eyes. She nodded at him before flying down the other chasers. Oliver looked at him, his desire to win and his concern for his seeker conflicting plainly on his face.

“You sure about this, Harry?” Harry nodded firmly, and Oliver nodded back before heading back to the hoops.

“ Sonorus ,” Madam Hooch tapped her wand to her throat and yelled in an amplified voice.

“YOU HAVE TWENTY SECONDS TO GET READY BEFORE I RESUME THE MATCH.”

Harry saw the chasers huddle together as the twins flew over to them. Alicia gestured wildly, and Angelina and Katie looked up at him with concern. Harry gave them a thumbs up and a smile that he hoped didn’t convey his anxiety.

Harry was no longer just fretting over whether he would catch the snitch. Now he was worrying about catching the snitch and staying on his broom.

When Madam Hooch blew the whistle, Harry started doing laps around the pitch. He searched desperately for the tiny, winged ball. The sooner Harry ended the game, the sooner he would be safe on the ground. As far as he knew, it was only a matter of time before his broom threw him off.

Harry circled the Gryffindor hoops when he noticed a large Slytherin chaser barrelling towards Oliver with the quaffle, though he was still a ways away from the penalty zone. The chaser had managed to break through past Alicia and Angelina and had a clear path to the penalty box. Harry flew straight at the chaser before tilting upward at the last moment.

The near collision caused the chaser to slow abruptly, allowing Alicia to swoop in and steal the quaffle. Alicia grinned at Harry as she passed the quaffle back and forth with Angelina all the way to the line of scrimmage.

Harry followed the chasers before he noticed Katie cherry-picking near the Slytherin hoops. Specifically, he noticed a glint of gold near her ear. Immediately, Harry leaned forward on his broom and willed it forward at top speed. He ducked into the play, flying between Angelina and the Slytherin, blocking her, allowing her to make a pass.

“It seems Potter has spotted the snitch. Higgs doesn’t seem to know where it is, but he’s hot on Potter’s tail.” Harry smirked as Lee spoke. The commentator had just told Harry that Higgs was behind him. Harry was definitely favoured to get the snitch now. “Oh, there’s the snitch, right next to Bell!”

Harry laughed as Katie’s mouth hung open as she stared at the snitch above her head. He barrelled straight at her, hoping she’d have the sense to get out of his way. Harry’s laughter disappeared as the Slytherin seeker gained on him from his left. The older boy was now level with Harry, and he knew that it was now anyone’s snitch to catch.

Harry pressed himself flat against his broom, pushing it as hard as he could and then some. Harry was still in the lead, but just barely. A whirring sound to Harry’s right made him tilt his broom downwards, and a bludger whizzed past where his head had been.

A loud curse to Harry’s left told him that Higgs hadn’t been so lucky. Harry laughed and used the opportunity to retake the lead. By now, the snitch had realised it was being pursued and began darting around erratically to evade him.

Katie had long since moved away to receive a pass from Alicia, scoring another goal.

The snitch swerved to Harry’s left, and he swore loudly. He tried to turn to chase, but Higgs was intentionally slow on the turn, trying to knock Harry off course and make him lose sight of the ball. Harry was being led right into a wall when a well-placed bludger from Fred forced Higgs to dodge, giving Harry an opening to lose the Slytherin.

Harry put on a final burst of speed and left his counterpart in the dust. He grit his teeth as the wind scraped at his skin. His hair was in his eyes now and made them water. Harry blinked, tears leaving his eyes and escaping into the air as it battered him.

Harry reached out his arm. The snitch was only a few inches away now. Harry could almost feel the wings fluttering against his fingertips. Harry stretched as far as he could. His muscles screamed from the exertion, and a hiss involuntarily left his lips. Harry felt the wind shift as a large presence barrelled toward him from his left. The presence was too large to be anything but a player.

Harry had a split second where he needed to decide whether to dodge the approaching player or catch the snitch. Harry cursed and leaned further forward, his fingers now grazing the snitch. At the same time, he saw a flash of scarlet swerve into the approaching player, leaving him free to wrap his gloved fingers around the snitch.

With the struggling snitch secured in his palm, Harry looked up just in time to see Angelina look at him from where she’d collided with Flint. When she saw the fluttering wings poking out between his fingers, her face split into a wide grin.

The pitch erupted into cheers as Harry held the snitch up in the air. Fred and George were the first people to find him, damn nearly knocking him off his broom as they gave him a midair bear hug.

Harry was still in shock. It still hadn’t registered that they’d just won. All he felt was the shallow breathing and rapid heartbeat that he associated with adrenaline.

The moment Harry’s feet met grass, he was attacked by three scarlet blurs. The chasers were all jumping around him, cheering. They hugged him, and Angelina placed a wet kiss on his cheek, turning his face the same colour as his robes. Alicia ruffled his hair before Harry found himself lifted off the ground.

This time, instead of his Nimbus, Harry, still clutching the snitch, was hoisted on the shoulders of the Weasley twins as the pitch was flooded with students wearing scarlet and gold. That was when the shock wore off. In just one moment, Harry went from feeling nothing to being overwhelmed with emotions. He was certain he resembled the Cheshire Cat. On impulse, he kissed the snitch and held it up in the air, and another wave of cheers filled his ears.

Harry had done it. He had caught the snitch. He hadn’t let his team down. Relief washed over him as he repeated the thought over and over.

He watched Oliver and Katie dancing around as Angelina and Alicia hugged each other. The twins, right below him, chattered excitedly about a party.

He had done this.

He was the reason they were all so happy. Harry felt it was a small repayment for the friendship they’d all shown him. Harry promised himself he’d catch the snitch every time for his team. For his friends.

Hogwarts had many myths and legends. Murderous ghosts and prankster poltergeists, secret rooms, goblin teachers, and cursed teaching positions, to name a few. One of the less mythical, but no less widespread, legends was that of the infamous Gryffindor parties.

Harry had to admit that the party was truly legendary.

Fred and George had outdone themselves. They had brought back enough food to feed an army. When Hermione asked them where they’d got it from, they just grinned at her and said they’d tell her when she was older. They’d also come back with barrels of Butterbeer and smaller flagons of another drink that Oliver and Alicia had absolutely refused to leave anywhere near Harry.

Someone had cast a sound amplification charm on a wireless, and loud, upbeat music permeated the common room. People chatted enthusiastically, and all the players on the Quidditch team were swarmed with well-wishers.

Harry, in particular, was in the spotlight, and he felt every person in Gryffindor Tower had stopped by to pat him on the back and congratulate him for a brilliant game. Harry hadn’t known how to react when the older students he’d overheard comparing him to Charlie Weasley congratulated him. Their forced smiles reminded him eerily of Aunt Petunia, and he looked distastefully at their retreating backs.

Oliver had mentioned that this was the most decisive Gryffindor victory since Charlie graduated. His mood had dipped a little when he heard that. Harry couldn’t help but feel that the Charlie Weasley would’ve caught the snitch faster. Maybe he would’ve noticed Flint trying to body him and dodged. Perhaps Charlie’s broom wouldn’t have tried to kick him off.

It was a subdued Harry who sat next to Ron and Hermione in a corner of the common room, nibbling on a large slice of treacle tart that the twins had procured specially for him.

“You were incredible, Harry!” Ron gushed. “That interference play with the chasers, on Warrington, I thought you’d crash into him. Bloody brilliant, mate!”

“Scared me half to death,” Hermione shook her head, though a smile peeked through her disapproving tone. “There were so many times when I thought you’d fall off your broom. And who thought that making metal balls that try to knock you off your broom was a good idea?”

“Speaking of,” Harry put his fork on his plate. “Did any of you see my broom try to knock me off?”

“Your broom – what? Did it break when Flint hit you?” Ron looked scandalised at the thought of the top-of-the-line broom getting damaged.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Harry shrugged. “Though, it worked fine the rest of the game. Remember the time-out? That was because it was throwing me around.”

“Oh, that’s what that was for?” Ron seemed in thought, then looked sheepish. “I just thought the first-time nerves got to you, and you needed a pep talk or something.”

Hermione smacked Ron over the back of the head lightly, and Harry tossed a piece of tart at him. Ron caught it with his mouth and grinned at Harry, who returned it. Hermione shook her head fondly with a muttered, “Boys…”

“Are you sure, Harry?” Hermione questioned, looking dubious. “Maybe you just lost control.”

“He’s not you, Hermione,” Ron said with an impish grin that took the sting out of his words. It was a little jarring to Harry how much Ron resembled his twin older brothers at that moment. “Harry wouldn’t lose control like that.”

Hermione sniffed but made a noise that belied her agreement.

“Perhaps someone jinxed Harry’s broom?” Hermione worried her lip between her teeth. “Though that’s advanced magic, I doubt any students would know how.”

“It’s got to be a Slytherin, though,” Ron said confidently. “Who else would want Harry to lose?”

“Perhaps it wasn’t about Quidditch, Ron,” Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering about Quidditch-obsessed boys. Ron didn’t seem to hear her.

“If the snakes are too thick to jinx your broom,” Ron said, his eyes lighting up. He snapped his fingers. “Maybe it was Snape! He certainly seems to hate you enough to want to do you in.”

“Professor Snape is a teacher, Ron!” Hermione looked as if Ron had accused her of trying to kill Harry. “He would never try to harm a student, even if it was Harry.”

Harry only shook his head resignedly as his best friends bickered. He wondered if his broom had been jinxed. If so, who? Was it an older student that Malfoy had bribed? Perhaps Marcus Flint hit him with the jinx when he hit Harry. Or maybe Ron was right, and it was Snape. Merlin knew the greasy professor hated Harry enough. Regardless, Harry decided to take the broom to a teacher the next day, and he knew exactly which professor to speak to.

In the meantime, Harry saw Alicia and Katie finishing a game of exploding snap and decided he wanted to say hi. The arguing Ron and Hermione didn’t even notice him get up and leave with his tart.

Katie waved at him absently as he took a seat next to her. She was glaring at the cards on the table, and Alicia smirked at the growing frustration on the younger girl’s features. Katie gingerly placed a card at the top of the pile and was entirely unsurprised when it exploded in her face. Harry laughed at Katie’s soot-covered face.

Her glare turned to a grin. “What’s so funny, Green Lightning?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, you’d know if you had a mirror, Katie-Kat.”

“Kids, kids, don’t argue,” Alicia teased, shuffling the deck before stowing it away. She stole a large chunk out of his tart and ate it, responding to his glare with a toothy grin.

After swallowing, she looked around to make sure no one was paying attention before she turned to face him, looking completely serious. “Harry, how are you doing after all that broom business?”

Harry sobered.

“I’m fine. Honest,” he added at Alicia’s dubious look. “You got there so fast, and the second Madam Hooch arrived, the broom stopped acting up. So, I didn’t get hurt or anything.”

“What d’you think happened?” Katie asked, shifting in her seat so that she could look at Harry better.

Harry shrugged. “Hermione thinks there’s a chance someone jinxed the broom. Ron thinks it's either a Slytherin trying to sabotage the team or Snape himself.”

At the mention of Snape, both girls raised their eyebrows. Katie started giggling.

“Thought of me falling off my broom, that funny to you?” Harry raised an eyebrow, and Katie only started laughing harder. Harry’s lip quirked, and Alicia was openly grinning.

“No, because imagine,” Katie got out between laughs. “Imagine confronting Snape about that. ‘Professor, here’s the essay you asked for. Also, just wondering, did you try to kill me at the Quidditch match?’”

Harry grinned at the thought. “I can imagine. ‘Potter, you’re as bigheaded as your father if you think I’d stoop so low as to kill you myself.’” Harry said in his best attempt at Snape’s drawl. It ended up sounding more like a rasp than anything. Alicia was laughing now, and Katie had tears spilling out of her eyes as she clutched her stomach.

The next day, Professor Filius Flitwick scanned the Nimbus 2000 with his eyes as Harry Potter told him about the Quidditch match.

“You believe someone jinxed your broom?” He raised an eyebrow. Rolanda Hooch had told him and Minerva about the conversation she’d had with Mr. Potter and his teammate, Ms. Spinnet.

“Yes, professor,” Mr. Potter nodded hesitantly. “You checked my broom yourself two days ago. It was in perfect condition then, and it hasn’t left my dorm since then, until the game. Hermione was researching jinxes – apparently, jinxes that could affect my broom might leave magic behind. I was hoping you could look at it again. See if they left something.”

Filius returned the broom to his student, who looked dejected for a moment. “Mr. Potter, I believe you’d be better suited to check for foreign magic than I.”

The boy’s eyes lit in recognition. “Of course, professor! My magical perception,” then he frowned. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Filius chuckled. “Sometimes the best solutions are the most obvious, Mr. Potter. Somehow, those are always the ones we overlook.”

Harry nodded seriously, with his hands wrapped tightly around the Nimbus. He closed his eyes, and Filius watched as Harry’s palms glowed where they touched the broom, as his magic intertwined with that of the broom.

Filius smiled as he watched the young boy. In his mind, he wasn’t seeing Harry Potter standing in front of him. Rather, he was seeing a girl with fiery red hair and the same emerald eyes that Harry shared. She had stood before him many years ago, asking him the same questions about her rare ability that her son had also inherited.

Filius thought that Harry looked so much more like his mother than people gave him credit for. The furrow between his eyebrows when he concentrated and the slight frown when he didn’t have the answer to a problem – that was all Lily.

“There’s something else here, professor,” Harry mumbled. His eyes were still firmly shut. Filius wondered whether Harry had reached the point in his abilities where he’d be able to see the colours of the magic. “I see three colours of magic here, professor. The first is the broom maker’s one, I think. It feels like what I felt before.”

“I recognise another one, it feels familiar,” Harry gasped. “Professor, I think it’s mine! It’s red and green, professor, and there’s some white too. It looks like a candy cane.” Harry said with a sheepish smile, and Filius chuckled.

“What about the other one, Mr. Potter? The third kind?”

“It feels bad, professor,” Harry frowned, and he paled. “It’s black and silver, but it isn’t like the other two. The other two look like electricity, but this one is more like smoke. The silver is wrapping around the black smoke like a snake. It feels weaker than the other two, but professor, it feels evil!”

Harry’s eyes shot open, and he would have dropped his broom if not for Filius’ quick reflexes, waving his wand and levitating it onto the desk.

“Mr. Potter! Are you alright?” Filius hoped there hadn’t been some kind of trap that he’d exposed the boy to. He didn’t think such a thing was possible, but one never knew with magic. Harry nodded shakily.

“I’m alright, professor,” Harry shuddered. “That third magic, I didn’t recognise it, but it felt so familiar. I – I think whoever jinxed my broom was someone I know. Or at least someone whom I’ve met.”

Filius frowned before waving his wand and casting an in-depth diagnostic charm. He cursed internally when he saw the boy was right – there was a third signature on the broom. It was nothing more than spell residue, but he was able to discern what the spell was meant to do.

Most modern brooms were fitted with anti-collision charms that would direct them away from any contact with a foreign object– other than the rider, of course. The broom maker who’d invented this charm was a student of his who’d taken inspiration from Muggle magnets, specifically the way magnets would repel each other when the same polarity was pointed at each other.

The jinx had dialled the sensitivity of the charm up to eleven and made it target Harry as well. The broom was trying to throw its rider off, along with repelling itself from anything even remotely close to it, including other people in the air.

This was not the work of cruel students, but of a dangerous witch or wizard who had something against Harry Potter.

Filius tapped the broom, dispersing any lingering traces of the spell, though it wouldn’t remove the magical signature that Harry had found. Black clouds wrapped in silver. Even the description felt evil. For good measure, the professor added a detection charm that would warn him if someone attempted to tamper with the broom again.

“Miss Granger was correct, Mister Potter, someone did jinx your broom. Essentially, they inverted the controls, causing the broom to fight itself to even stay upright.” Filius was saddened when fear flitted across the boy’s face. He had been through so much already, and now someone was trying to hurt him in school. “I’ve placed some charms that will alert me if someone tries to tamper with your broom again. Keep your broom in your dormitory and be very careful.”

Harry nodded, fearless determination replacing the momentary terror. Filius couldn’t help but smile. Once again, he felt as if he was two decades younger, watching Lily Evans look back at him through the eyes of her son.

“Mr. Potter, I can’t profess to be an expert in magical sensing, like your mother was.” The boy smiled at the mention of his mother, and Filius’s heart broke at the desperation with which he soaked up information about her. Perhaps his relatives, muggles that they were, were unable to tell him about her magical prowess. He decided he would rectify that. “But I can teach you to better harness your mind and magic, and I imagine that would help you unlock the true potential of your abilities.”

“You’d do that for me, professor? I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Yes, Mr. Potter, it would be my pleasure,” Filius frowned at the second part of Harry’s statement. The boy looked conflicted between eagerness to learn and a hesitancy to believe Filius would want to help. “Your mother was a good friend of mine, and it would be an honour to help you harness her abilities.”

“Then yes, professor,” Harry nodded excitedly, a shy smile spreading across his features as Filius chuckled at his pupil’s enthusiasm. “I’d love to learn from you.”

Later that week, Harry found himself knocking on the door to Flitwick’s office. At the professor’s beckon, Harry opened the door and walked in. The diminutive professor sat at his desk, marking essays. As he approached, he recognised one of the essays as Ron’s. Harry winced at the ‘P’ for Poor next to his friend’s name.

“Mr. Potter,” Flitwick greeted him with a smile. “Have a seat, I’ll be with you in a moment. I just need to finish marking Mr. Finch-Fletchley’s essay on the applications and limitations of the mending charm.”

He peered down at Harry from over his glasses. “An essay you should be familiar with, of course. You have done quite well on that one if I remember correctly.”

Harry was quite pleased to hear that. “I hope so, professor. I’ve been putting a lot of effort into that essay, especially after all the magical perception stuff.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Potter. I am happy that your ability has given you a greater interest in my subject,” Flitwick nodded approvingly before he turned serious. “Of course, I hope that your increased diligence does not apply only to charms. Professor McGonagall would be very cross with me if you slacked off in your other subjects.”

Harry felt quite sheepish. He knew he ought to put more effort into his schoolwork anyway. Perhaps he would spend more time with Hermione studying – he knew Ron would be no help. He could even study with his older friends. Minus the twins. Harry snorted at the thought of inviting the twins to study in the library.

“Well, Mr. Potter, shall we get started?” Flitwick waved his wand, and the essays on his desk arranged themselves neatly on a side table. Harry nodded, excited to make some progress with his magical perception. “How do you think your ability works, Mr. Potter?”

Harry blinked.

“If I concentrate, I feel the magic in any object I touch. Once I touch it, sometimes, I can even see it,” Harry said slowly.

“Correct, Mr. Potter, but let us look deeper,” Flitwick handed him a feather, and once he concentrated, Harry felt the magic pulse under his fingertips. “Why do you think you can only sense it when you concentrate? You can see, smell and hear without thinking about it, correct?”

Harry frowned. That was a good question. Flitwick made magical perception sound like some kind of sixth sense.

“That is our goal. To help your magical perception become so natural that you can use it as easily as you can see or smell.”

Professor Flitwick explained that Harry’s mother had, much like him, not grown up around magic. Her Muggle-born status had been a double-edged sword because, while it allowed her to easily distinguish between magical and mundane objects, her lack of familiarity with magic made it harder for her to distinguish different types and sources of magic.

His mum had harnessed the full capacity of her mind. It allowed her to remain in a state of passive perception. Flitwick told him that the skill that would allow him to do that was called Occlumency .

According to the professor, Occlumency was the art of protecting one’s mind from intrusion, but it also had the added advantage of organising the mind. And once his mind was organised, passive perception would be easy.

However, the first step was to be the hardest.

“Alright, now that you understand the theory behind what we are going to attempt, I want to remind you that while I am a trained Occlumens, I do not have your ability. This may not work, as there may be a component Lily used that I was unaware of.” Flitwick looked unnaturally serious. “In that case, you will have gained a valuable skill in the form of Occlumency, as well as a head start to understanding your ability.”

Harry nodded, matching his professor’s serious expression. Flitwick returned to his usual cheery countenance. With a flick of his wand, the desks in the classroom were stacked neatly against the walls, and two yoga mats appeared on the floor.

Flitwick sat cross-legged on a mat before gesturing at Harry to take the other. He explained that before Harry could begin organising and manipulating his mind, he would have to understand it. He told Harry to clear his mind of thoughts. “I like to imagine a fly is buzzing near my ear. As irritating as the sound is, it is nearly impossible to have many coherent thoughts,” he said as he closed his eyes. Harry followed suit.

In the pitch-darkness of his eyelids, Harry felt his other senses tenfold. The soft click of the clock on the wall. The faint smell of parchment. Even the soft mat underneath him. He sensed them vividly. And as he sensed them, accompanying thoughts flit through his mind.

How long have I been sitting here?

Wonder what I got on that essay.

Wow, this mat is really nice.

Stop thinking. No thoughts.

Wait, does that count as a thought?

Harry tried to imagine a fly buzzing in his ear, but his thoughts were filled with increasingly sadistic ways to kill the imaginary insect.

At some point, Harry gave up on trying to clear his mind. He had gone through the stages of grief, including anger at his incompetence, and sadness that he would never be able to harness his mother’s ability before he landed on acceptance.

Harry figured that if he couldn’t clear his mind, he might as well take the silence as a chance to relax. He’d had a very eventful two months at Hogwarts and thought he deserved a chance to unwind. He let his mind loose and let the thoughts run their course.

Flying on a broom was rather relaxing, but with Quidditch, even that had begun to require too much effort. He ought to go flying sometime. No snitch, no bludgers, just him, his Nimbus and the cool air against his skin. He smiled as he imagined the sensation of the wind rushing against his ears.

That was when it all went blank. Later, Harry would wonder whether he’d somehow emptied out his thought tank. But at that moment, Harry didn’t realise his mind was empty – that would be a thought after all.

Lost in his subconscious, Harry relished the feeling of nothing. Nothing could follow him here, into the deepest recesses of his mind. Not the Dursleys, the mysterious broom-jinxer, or the crippling insecurity and imposter syndrome he felt around his friends. No, he felt much like he did when he was flying – that is to say, that he felt nothing except the wind in his hair.

This is nice.

That was a thought.

Harry cursed out loud. A chuckle from opposite him reminded him of his company, and his eyes shot open. He looked at the chuckling professor, mortified. Flitwick didn’t seem to be offended or angry.

“Having a hard time clearing your thoughts, Mr. Potter?”

Harry nodded. “I actually did it for a bit, then I had a stray thought again.”

Flitwick looked impressed. “That is better than I would have expected for your first attempt, Mr. Potter. Very impressive.”

Harry blushed. “Thanks.”

Flitwick accepted the gratitude with a nod before closing his eyes again. Harry, taking the cue, followed suit and retreated into his mind.

Once again, he felt the thoughts flit across his mind as they always did. Until then, he’d taken thought for granted. Only now that he was trying to temporarily get rid of them did he realise how many of them there were. Harry didn’t think he was stupid, per se, but he didn’t expect this many. He shuddered to think of what Hermione’s mind looked like.

Harry didn’t fight the thoughts, instead letting them run their course. He tried to remember what his empty mind felt like so that he could replicate the feeling. Once again, the only comparison he was able to draw was to the feeling of being on a broom.

He allowed the feeling of flight to wash over him. The weightlessness, the freedom, the lack of restraint – even from gravity. The feeling washed over him, and just as if he were truly on a broom, it repelled any other thought.

Eventually, even the thought of flight faded into nothingness, and once again, Harry found himself in the empty darkness that was an empty mind.

This time, Harry felt more lucid. It was contradictory, he knew. How could he feel lucid when he felt nothing at all? But Harry felt that way, nonetheless.

He committed the feeling of his empty mind to memory. He studied it and worshipped it. The Nothing was all Harry knew. Harry didn’t know how to get out.

He panicked.

And panic was a thought.

Like waking up from a particularly unpleasant dream, he jolted out of his mind. Suddenly, the clock on the wall felt much louder. The smell of the parchment was nigh overwhelming, and joined by a plethora of other scents that assaulted his nose. Even the mat under his feet was more thoroughly felt – he could feel the roughness of the anti-slip protection alongside the softness of the foam. When Harry opened his eyes, he blinked out spots in his vision as the lights in the room gained halos of light as they glared at him.

Harry rubbed his eyes.

In front of him was the feather that Flitwick had enchanted. He picked it up and felt nothing. Frowning, he focused on the feather and suddenly felt the warmth that he associated with Flitwick’s magic.

“It didn’t work,” Harry said dejectedly.

Flitwick smiled. “Mr. Potter, it takes adult wizards days to accomplish what you already have. This is something to be proud of,” Flitwick patted Harry on the shoulder, and he nodded absently at his professor. “Do not expect to learn Occlumency within a fortnight. It is a skill that takes years to master.”

“Got it, got it,” Harry mumbled. He felt a little better, but he couldn’t beat the nagging feeling that his mum probably took to Occlumency faster than he. Would she be disappointed he hadn’t got it right?

“Now, Mr. Potter, I think it’s time you got some rest,” Flitwick smiled encouragingly. “You’ve done great work tonight, and we’ll continue next week. In the meantime, keep practising clearing your mind, and I’m sure we’ll see more improvement soon. Now, I believe dinner is in two hours, and that should be enough time for a short nap before you go down. I imagine you’ll need it. Have a good rest of your evening, Mr. Potter.”

Harry smiled tiredly before he went back up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, then to his dorm before promptly passing out. Professor Flitwick was right; thinking of nothing was exhausting.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Sensomagy

As unbelievable as it was to think of a school of magic, Harry Potter fell into a routine at Hogwarts.

From Professor Flitwick’s stories about his mother, Harry learned she was quite the prodigy. He didn’t think he was smart enough even to come close to her academic prowess, but promised himself that he’d try nonetheless. It was what his mum would want him to do.

Much to Ron's irritation, Harry spent more time in the library studying with Hermione. While he wasn’t even close to his bookish friend’s level, he liked to think he was on track to pass all his classes and even excel in most of them. He had no delusions about scraping better than an ‘Acceptable’ in Snape’s potions class.

After his first session with Professor Flitwick, Harry practised clearing his mind every night before going to bed. It took him many nights of practice to replicate the success he’d found during the first. The first few times, he fell asleep before even entering the empty state.

One night, he was trying to imagine and mimic the feeling of being in an empty state. Something particularly hard to do, as the feeling he was trying to replicate was, well, nothing. He remembered that he had Quidditch practice the next morning, and decided he needed to sleep. Harry’s thoughts drifted to flying and the feeling it gave him. The freedom. The ability to leave his problems behind on the ground. The clarity and emptiness that took over his mind as the wind rushed louder than any thoughts he could formulate.

Clarity and emptiness. The epiphany came to him as he drifted into sleep.

The next night, Harry tried to imagine himself on his broom. He imagined the wind rushing against his face and whistling in his ear. Unlike the fly, it was a familiar and pleasant sound, so he felt no urge to stop it. Then he slipped into nothingness. He was overjoyed when he snapped out. He was able to replicate his success the next night, and his mood only improved.

As he practised, he required less and less time to enter what he began calling the Nothing. As he became more familiar with his mind, he found it easier to retain information and recall memories. He became increasingly proficient with his mind, and Flitwick promised they’d move to the next step after the break.

Speaking of the break, Harry was one of the first to sign up to stay in the castle for Christmas. To his surprise, Ron and his brothers also signed on. Ron explained that his parents were going to Romania to visit his older brother Charlie, who was working with dragons.

Harry woke on Christmas morning to loud cheers from Ron. The boy was sitting on the foot of his bed, staring excitedly at a large pile of presents. Harry felt a pang in his chest as he watched Ron sift through his pile. He sat up in bed, feeling the ugliness of jealousy claw at him.

“Morning, Harry!” Ron grinned at him. “Happy Christmas!”

Harry mumbled a response. His mood was rather foul as he swung his legs over the side and accidentally kicked a nondescript package at the foot of his bed.

Wait a minute.

He looked down at the pile of presents in shock.

He had presents.

Harry picked up a package from the floor and held it as though a slight breeze might shatter it. The wrapping paper was scarlet, with tiny golden snitches that flitted across its length. It was with shaking hands that he gingerly pried the wrapping paper open before folding it and placing it on his bed. He heard ripping as Ron tore into his presents like a feral animal.

Inside was a navy blue book. QUIDDITCH THROUGH THE AGES was printed on the spine. On the front was a picture of a wizard on a broomstick chasing a snitch.

Harry picked up the book and flipped through the pages when a note fell out.

I thought you’d like a copy for your own collection. Professor Snape can’t confiscate this one. Happy Christmas, Harry!

~Hermione

Just before his first Quidditch match, Hermione had borrowed a copy of this book from the library on his behalf. Snape confiscated the book for what Harry was certain was a made-up reason. When he’d gone to get it back, Harry saw the professor nursing a large gash in his leg. When Snape spotted him, he was so mad that Harry had high-tailed it out of there without the book. He wished that whatever had hurt Snape had done a better job.

Harry’s smile could’ve split his face before it curved into a frown. He hadn’t given anyone any presents – he hadn’t been expecting any.

He felt guilty as he reached for the next present, placing the book on his bed. This one was wrapped in festive colours and rather lumpy. He peeled the wrapping back and folded it. Inside was an emerald green, knitted jumper, with a red ‘H’ in the middle. Very festive. He noted with a grin.

“Oh, that must be from my mum,” Ron looked sheepish. “I told her you weren’t expecting presents. Didn’t think you’d get a jumper, though. Mum always makes one for us kids. Wonder if I’ll finally get one that’s not maroon.”

Ron sifted through his packages for an identical lumpy package. He frowned. “Nope, still maroon.” He gave Harry an exasperated look before returning to his gifts.

Harry hugged the jumper, feeling how warm it was. He fished in the package for a tin of fudge. Delicious, he noted after sticking his finger in the tin and licking off the chocolatey goodness.

It took Harry twice as long as Ron to go through his presents, though that could be because of the reverence with which Harry opened them. He had never received presents before and wanted to savour the moment.

Along with the jumper from Mrs. Weasley and the book from Hermione, Harry received presents from the entire Quidditch team. He was rather amused by the practice snitch Angelina gave him, watching it buzz around the room before he caught it. He imagined Oliver would be quite happy with the present. Alicia got him a sneakoscope, with a note saying to hold onto it for the next time someone jinxed his broom. Katie gave him a picture of his first snitch catch from their last match, and Harry wondered how she’d snuck a camera onto the pitch. The entire team pitched in to get him goggles that would adjust to his poor eyesight, allowing him to forgo his glasses during matches.

Harry’s gratitude only made him feel more guilty. He remembered the giant mountain of gold in his vault and lamented that he hadn’t used any of it to get his friends anything.

With his upbringing, he never put too much stock into presents. In the past, such a line of thought only led to him watching wistfully as Dudley received mountains of gifts while Harry was locked away in his cupboard. But at Hogwarts, he had friends who wanted to give him presents, and that would take getting used to.

Harry wondered if there was a way to purchase things from Hogwarts. Maybe he could ask a professor. Then Harry had a revelation so obvious he physically restrained himself from facepalming. Perhaps he could write the stores and get them to send things over. He only hoped he had enough gold on him to cover everything – Merlin knew there was no way he could get to Gringotts to withdraw more money.

Before he could get completely lost in his pondering, Harry remembered the package he’d kicked away earlier and reached for it. He saw his name on it in loopy handwriting. He peeled back the paper, and a silky, shimmering mass of fabric fell out.

Harry held up the cloth and stood up. It was about as big as his bedsheets. It glittered in the sunlight and seemed to refract and warp the light near its surface.

Harry focused on the cloth, which lit up with magic. The magic was nearly blinding and so much brighter than any broom he’d seen. The edges of the fabric pulsed with strands of magic that were a plethora of colours. Harry even saw the red, green, and white strands that he recognised as his own join the intertwined border. They mingled with a blue and orange strand that seemed brighter than most others. Oddly, despite being intertwined with each other, the strands didn’t merge like the magic on the brooms had.

Other than the edges, the blanket was saturated with magic, the colour of moonlight. It was a shining silver that shimmered like a sea of mercury and simply rolled with power.

Something told Harry that the magic he saw didn’t belong to any ordinary wizard. Perhaps it didn’t belong to a wizard at all. Did gods exist in the magical world?

“Harry, what you got there, mate?” Ron’s voice cut through Harry’s thoughts, and as he lost focus, the colours faded into the shimmering black that was the actual colour of the cloak. “Bloody hell, Harry, is that an invisibility cloak?”

“A what?” Harry looked at the cloak. It was certainly opaque. He wrapped it around his shoulders and looked down to find he couldn’t see himself from the shoulders down. “My body’s gone!”

“Not gone, just invisible,” Ron corrected absently, still looking wide-eyed at where Harry’s body should have been. He took a tentative step forward and found he could still feel and use his lower body. Ron looked like Christmas had come – well, not early. “Mate, these are supposed to be really rare. And expensive. D’you know who sent it to you?”

Harry shook his head before unclasping the cloak and watching as his body reappeared as the cloth dropped to the floor. A note fluttered out from within its folds, and Harry caught it.

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It’s time it was returned to you. Use it well.

There was no address. No sender. Just the same loopy handwriting as the package.

The door to the dormitory opened, and Harry had just enough time to stow his cloak under his pillow when Fred and George walked in, already wearing their jumpers. Fred’s was blue with an orange ‘G’ on it, and George’s was orange with a blue ‘F’.

“Happy Christmas, little brother,” Fred beamed before grabbing Ron’s jumper and stuffing him inside it. “Family spirit, Ronnie, you’ve got to match with your brothers.”

“Sod off Fred,” Ron grumbled from inside the jumper.

“Oi, I’m not Fred!” Fred crossed his arms in mock indignation. “Look at the jumper, you prat. I’m clearly Gred. Tell him, Forge!”

“There, there, Greddie,” George said solemnly. “After all these years, he doesn’t even recognise his own brothers.”

“He breaks my heart, Forge,” Fred wailed.

Ron grumbled as his head popped out from the jumper, though his arms were still trapped at his sides.

“What’s going on in here?” Percy stuck his head in the door. He was fully dressed and held his Weasley jumper in his arms. He looked at the twins with disapproval. “What have you done with Ron?”

“What we’re going to do to you, older brother,” George grinned before nicking Percy’s jumper and stuffing him in it.

Harry grinned at the commotion. When Fred looked at him, he raised his arms in surrender. “Already got mine on,” he laughed as the twins gave him looks of approval.

“Look at Harry, he’s got more family spirit than the two of you combined,” George tutted as he dragged Percy out. The prefect barely avoided falling down the stairs as he tried to extricate himself from his jumper. Ron had given up and was following Fred of his own accord with his arms strapped to his side like a mummy.

Harry and the Weasleys went down to the Great Hall, where the four house tables had been replaced by one oblong table. The professors who’d opted to stay for the holidays were already seated, talking merrily. Harry sat down between Ron and Percy and smiled across the table at Professors Flitwick and McGonagall.

Christmas lunch – for Harry, Ron, and most others had slept through breakfast – was wilder than anything Harry had ever experienced. The Hogwarts kitchen staff had outdone themselves, and Harry found himself trying every dish he could get his hands on. He was still a little unused to being able to eat whenever and however much he wanted, so he tended to treat every meal like it was last.

At one point, He reached for the gravy boat and ended up knocking it into Professor Dumbledore’s lap. A mortified Harry stammered out repeated apologies as a laughing Dumbledore cleaned himself with a wave of his wand before levitating the boat to him.

He watched the Professor open a wizarding cracker, get a large pirate’s hat and trade it for Professor Flitwick’s flowery gardening cap. It reminded him of the gifts he wanted to purchase.

“Percy, do you know if I could withdraw some money from my vault from Hogwarts?” he asked the older boy, who turned from his key lime pie and looked at Harry inquisitively.

“Well, no, you have to go to Gringotts and give them your key,” Percy said, and Harry frowned. “Why do you ask? You shouldn’t need money for much in the castle, and you’re too young for Hogsmeade.”

He blushed. “Well, I didn’t get anyone Christmas presents, and I wanted to take out some money to buy some.”

“Well, you don’t need to withdraw money to owl-order,” Percy looked at Harry with a stern look of disapproval. “If you write a letter approving the withdrawal to the store owners, they can cash it in at Gringotts for you.”

“Huh. I just write the amount on any piece of parchment?” he said dubiously, and Percy nodded as if it made all the sense in the world. “How do they detect forgery? Wouldn’t it be really easy to forge my signature?”

“Your signature leaves traces of your magic, Harry,” Percy spoke as if speaking to a little child. “That is why everyone says not to sign any documents without a solicitor. Usually, witches and wizards can’t sense the magic on the signature – there’s only very little – but the goblins have contraptions for that. They will know it’s you.”

Harry nodded slowly before turning away, leaving Percy to his pudding.

After lunch, the Gryffindors spent the rest of the day out in the snow. Most of their afternoon was spent in the middle of a snowball fight, and even the uptight Percy joined it when he and Ron were getting magically outclassed by the twins. A few other students who’d stayed over for the holidays joined in. Harry and Ron cheered as Fred and George enchanted snowballs to follow Professor Quirrell around and bump into the back of his turban. Sadly, the twins were caught and given detention, though it didn’t seem to bother them much.

He was utterly knackered when he got back to Gryffindor Tower. The sun was just setting when he went to his dorm and grabbed his writing supplies. Over the course of the day, he’d weaselled information out of Fred, George, and Ron, both on present ideas and where to get them.

He’d procured a list of shops, including Honeydukes for candy, Zonkos for joke items (predictably, he got this information from the twins), Spintwitches for Quidditch supplies, and Dervish and Banges for knick-knacks and equipment like the sneakoscope Alicia got him. All these shops were in Hogsmeade, which the twins told him was a small wizarding village near Hogwarts that third years and above could visit.

Harry penned letters to all these shops, requesting owl-order catalogues. He also wrote a letter to Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, even though he knew they would take longer to respond, being in London. He also asked whether they had any books on magical sensitivity. Even though he knew it was a long shot, as rare as his ability was, it never hurt to ask.

He folded up the letters and looked out the window. It was dark outside. He must’ve lost track of time, and when he looked at Neville’s alarm clock, he realised it was already past curfew.

Harry knew he didn’t have much time, since he wanted the presents to arrive before his friends returned from break.

He bit his lip as he considered his options. His gaze landed on the shimmering silver fabric lying on his bed.

Harry grinned as he stuffed the letters into his rucksack. He threw the invisibility cloak over himself and looked in the mirror. He couldn’t see a thing.

Harry snuck down the stairs and into the common room. It was mostly deserted, but the three younger Weasleys were immersed in a game of Gobstones. He looked between his friends and the exit, looking for a distraction, when it came in the form of Percy. The prefect came down from his dorm and told his younger siblings to go to bed, which sparked an argument. With the occupants of the common room sufficiently distracted, he slipped out the entrance.

“Who’s there?” The fat lady grumbled blearily as he walked out. He snuck away and heard the portrait snoring before he even turned the corner.

He crept through the dark corridors, sticking to the halls where the moonlight shone through the windows. The owlery was rather close to Gryffindor Tower, so he reached his destination with little trouble.

Harry trekked up the staircase to the west tower, and when his cloak got caught under his feet for the third time, he took it off. He reached the top of the stairs and shivered as a freezing draught hit him. He was suddenly thankful for the jumper Mrs. Weasley made him.

Harry spent a few moments breathing in the crisp winter air despite his chattering teeth. He tied his letters to Hedwig and watched her fly away. He looked over the balcony at the rolling Scottish hills blanketed in a thick coating of pearly white snow. The tiny speck that was Hedwig flew toward a small village that he assumed was Hogsmeade.

He went back down the stairs. It was as he was unfolding his invisibility cloak that he had an idea.

When Harry had learned of his magical ability, he’d asked Hermione if she knew anything about it. She’d scoured the library for him, despite his refusal to explain why he needed the information. Still, she came up with nothing except what he already knew.

But Hermione hadn’t had access to the restricted section. Perhaps there would be more information in there that Hermione hadn’t found.

Even as he considered the pros and cons of sneaking into the library, Harry’s legs had already taken him away from Gryffindor Tower.

The library was pitch black when he arrived. The large space was empty, and he nearly ran into a bookshelf that wobbled dangerously when he brushed against it.

“Lumos,” His wand lit up, and he grinned.

Harry crept deeper into the library, toward the back, where he knew the restricted section was located. It was hidden behind a padlock that he quickly dispatched with a muttered “ Alohomora .”

The restricted section was organised much like the rest of the library. Bookshelves lined one of the walls, and desks lined the other. He traced his finger along the spines of the books, looking for anything related to magical senses or rare magical abilities.

There were two books on the latter topic, and Harry gathered them onto a desk, picking one that gave him a clear view of the entrance. He found a leather-bound tome on mind manipulation and occlumency. He figured it couldn’t hurt to skim through, so he added it to the pile.

While he hadn’t looked through the entire restricted section, he felt he had enough books to parse tonight, so he sat at the desk and opened the first one.

Under the wand light, Harry read the spine of a blue, rough-skinned book that looked brand new compared to the positively ancient tomes surrounding it.

Rare and Dangerous Magical Abilities Lost to Time.

He flipped through the pages, looking for anything that mentioned magical senses or perception. His attention was caught by a chapter titled ‘Parseltongue’.

He opened the chapter, and he paled as he read the page.

Parseltongue is a rare magical ability that allows the wizard to speak to snakes. Many famous parselmouths have existed throughout history, such as Hogwarts founder Salazar Slytherin, dark wizard Herpo the Foul, and most recently, the Dark Lord Voldemort. As the most famous parselmouths have all been dark wizards, Parseltongue has largely been associated with dark magic and carries negative connotations in European wizarding society.

Harry’s thoughts returned to his trip to the Zoo a few months ago on Dudley’s birthday. He was certain he’d spoken to the Boa Constrictor that day at the zoo, and it had even spoken back to him. He didn’t know how he did it, and didn’t know if it could be controlled. Did that mean he was destined to be a dark wizard like the man who’d killed his parents? His thoughts went back to his sorting back in September.

Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin.

The Sorting Hat had wanted to put him in Slytherin. What if the Hat knew about his ability and tried to warn the school? But he wasn’t dark, was he? He was a Gryffindor. His friends were Gryffindors.

“Your friends are Gryffindors, but are you?” A traitorous voice whispered in his ear, and he screwed his eyes shut, trying to block it out. “The Hat wanted you in Slytherin for a reason. ‘No one good ever comes out of Slytherin’, isn’t that what Ron said? Is this what drives him away? How will your friends react when they discover you’re a dark wizard?”

“I’m NOT a dark wizard!” He realised too late that he’d spoken out loud. He heard a shuffling sound in the corridor outside the library.

Harry swore under his breath and hastily placed the books where he’d found them. “ Nox ,” he muttered as he threw on his cloak. He crept out the door.

“ Colloportus ,” He tapped the door. As it locked again, Harry moved to the side just in time for Filch to turn the corner.

“You heard a student here, my sweet?” Filch asked, looking down at his feet. His cat, Mrs. Norris, purred as it approached the restricted section. “Out of bed, are we? Show yourself, rule breaker! Perhaps I can convince the headmaster to use my riding crop. Oh yes, that would be fun, wouldn’t it?” Filch’s cackle echoed as Harry edged towards the exit.

His heartbeat was fast and erratic against his chest. He slipped out of the library and nearly collided with Professor Snape.

Harry’s breath caught in his chest as he barely avoided him. Perhaps he had felt the air shift from Harry’s proximity because Snape turned and looked right at Harry. More accurately, he looked through Harry, for the bat-like professor looked away and entered the library.

Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Filch, what is it?” Harry heard Snape’s voice from inside.

“Mrs. Norris heard a sound.” Filch’s scratchy voice was filled with frustration. “But the books in the main stacks are all untouched, and the restricted section is still locked up.”

“You woke me up because your cat heard a sound in a magic castle?” Harry could hear the sneer in Snape’s voice. His lips quirked as he imagined Snape tearing Filch a new one. Yes, Harry’s two least favourite people could send each other to the hospital wing, and he would be much happier for it.

“When I said to summon me in case of emergencies, I was referring to someone breaking into the third-floor corridor, like after the troll incident. Not imaginary miscreants, you buffoon.” Harry winced. Cranky Snape was even worse than regular Snape, and he had been under the impression that nothing was worse than regular Snape.

As he crept back to Gryffindor Tower, his thoughts kept returning to Parseltongue. He didn’t want to think about that, so he turned to something Snape had said.

Someone had tried to break into the third-floor corridor – presumably the one that Dumbledore said promised certain death. And they had done it on Halloween when the troll had invaded the castle. Harry had never thought too hard about why the troll was in the dungeons. Was it related to this break-in? Was it just a distraction?

Harry stopped walking as he thought of the evil black and silver magic he’d felt on his jinxed broom. The last time he held his Nimbus, he’d hardly noticed the foreign magic. The broom had mostly become his. He could barely feel the broom maker’s magic, let alone that of the wizard who jinxed it. But it was still there.

Harry thought it was suspicious that the jinxing of his broom and the troll invasion had happened only two weeks apart. How had the wizard entered the castle? What if they’d never left?

His thoughts drifted to Ron’s guess that Snape was trying to do him in. He could believe that Snape tried to kill him – the man hated him enough.

But he felt he was missing something.

Harry was deep in thought as he crossed the threshold into the Gryffindor common room. He carefully folded his invisibility cloak and, after a moment of consideration, stuffed it into his rucksack. He liked the idea of keeping his father’s old cloak on his person, and it certainly didn’t hurt that he could use it to prank Malfoy. No, the Slytherin wouldn’t know what hit him – in every sense of the word.

Harry changed into his pyjamas before slipping into bed. That night, when he did his nightly Occlumency routine, he found his thought-clearing routine interrupted by stray thoughts of Parseltongue and dark magic. After his sixth attempt, he gave up on trying to enter the Nothing and allowed sleep to take him. His slumber was plagued with images of his friends lying dead with snake bites on their necks. When he woke, he was distraught until he heard Ron snoring next to him.

The next day, Harry alternated between playing chess with Ron, doing homework and picking out presents for his friends. All the stores he’d reached out to responded to him instantly. They were all overjoyed to do business with THE Harry Potter. As much as he hated his fame, he was willing to accept its benefits just this once.

As he signed the last letter authorising Hermione’s present, Harry felt a prickling feeling as his finger brushed his signature. Remembering Percy’s words about magical traces, Harry closed his eyes and focused on the drying ink. He grinned as, from the ink, emerged intertwined strands of red, green, and white.

He stuffed the parchment in his rucksack before donning his invisibility cloak. Harry wanted to make a trip to the restricted section after he dropped off the letters, so he waited till curfew before leaving Gryffindor Tower.

Harry traversed the moonlit castle with ease the second time around. He made the trek to the owlery without trouble, petting Hedwig for a few minutes before tying the letters to her feet. Just like the previous night, he slipped into the restricted section.

“Lumos,” Harry muttered as he traced the spines along the wall, searching for the book he’d been reading the previous night.

He felt a rough texture under his fingers and pulled out the familiar blue book. He laid it on the desk and thumbed through it. His gaze lingered for a moment on the Parseltongue section before he clenched his jaw and turned the page. He flipped through a few more pages before he landed on a section titled Perversio Incantatem. Curiosity piqued; Harry read through the chapter.

Perversio Incantatem, or magic warping, is a branch of Sensomagy that involves modifying the very fabric of a spell, changing its intent and therefore its effect. Most commonly used for enchantments, Perversio Incantatem can be used to change the effects of any spell, given time and precision.

A primitive imitation of Perversio Incantatem can be used by skilled wizards who do not possess the talent. This imitation requires constant eye contact, or the spell will revert. The imitation is also limited to adjusting the parameters of the original spell, whereas someone capable of full magical warping can change the acting spell in its entirety.

The last known practitioner of true magical warping was the legendary Merlin of Camelot. Since then, many have claimed to be practitioners of Magical Warping in the past, but when tested, were unable to showcase anything outside the scope of the imitation. This is likely because the rare talent of Sensomagy is a prerequisite for true Perversio Incantatem. For more details, see the chapter on Sensomagy.

The ability to manipulate the very fabric of magic. Such an ability sounded incredibly powerful to Harry, even though he didn’t fully understand what it meant. He grinned as he imagined deactivating the charms on Flint’s broom in the middle of their next Quidditch game.

His blood ran cold as he remembered Professor Flitwick’s words.

They inverted the controls, causing the broom to fight itself to stay upright.

Could Harry have identified the jinx that was used on his broom? Maybe it wasn’t a jinx at all, but this Perversio Incantatem that the book spoke of.

Harry thumbed through the rest of the chapter, finding nothing of use. He flipped backwards through the book until he found the section titled Sensomagy.

Sensomagy, also known as magical perception or mage sight, is a sensory ability that allows one to perceive magic. When one with high sensitivity is first introduced to a magic-rich environment, their mind subconsciously compartmentalises the two worlds separately, allowing them to intuitively discern whether an object is magical or mundane. However, this is only a primitive version of Sensomagy and is common among Muggleborns and the Muggle-raised.

True Sentiomagi are those that can not only determine whether an object is magical or non-magical, but they can also determine the magical attributes of the object. Attributes such as the properties and purpose of the enchantment, the caster, or even the intended recipient of the enchantment.

Sensomagy is an ability that also acts as a gateway to others, such as Perversio Incantatem (see the chapter on Perversio Incantatem for more details). True Sentiomagi are rare, and those who have mastered the branches, such as Perversio Incantatem, are even rarer. Some famous Sentiomagi were Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, Merlin of Camelot and Gellert Grindelwald. Grindelwald is the last known wielder of Mage Sight.

He grinned widely. He’d found it. Harry was a Sentiomagus.

He then realised that his mother’s name wasn’t in the book. Checking the date of publication, he found that the book was published in 1976 — when his mum was still in school. Perhaps the author hadn’t known she had the ability while she was still a student.

Harry began scratching down notes from the chapter. After a moment’s consideration, he also wrote down everything he could on Perversio Incantatem.

He spent the rest of the holiday break in the same fashion. During the day, he spent time playing games with Ron and the twins or completing his homework (the Weasleys were not a fan of the latter). He’d even dedicated an evening to wrapping all the newly arrived Christmas presents. At curfew, Harry would sneak into the restricted section and read up on mage sight.

The books said the key to improving mage sight was to control his mind, so Harry continued his Occlumency practice.

On the last night of break, Harry found himself poring over a book on Occlumency and mind manipulation. He sat at his usual desk in the restricted section and skimmed over a chapter on clearing the mind. It was a component of Occlumency that he felt he was getting a good grasp on, but he reread it absently anyway as he remained lost in thought.

His friends would be returning from break tomorrow. Harry wasn’t sure how he would tell them about his invisibility cloak and mage sight. Thus far, Harry had kept the latter to himself. Ron knew about the cloak, so Harry expected that Hermione would find out eventually, and he found he didn’t mind telling her about it either. It was the mage sight that he was conflicted about. He knew Hermione would want to learn it too, and he didn’t know if he liked that idea, even if it was unlikely she had the affinity for Sensomagy that he did.

Harry had never had anything that he was better at than anyone else. He’d never had something he could call his own, that no one else could do. Harry knew he was a good flier, but so were Angelina, Alicia, and Katie. Harry thought he was a decent student, but knew Hermione was better. His mage sight was the only thing he had that was alone. After a childhood of growing up with nothing to call his own, a part of Harry wanted to jealously guard it for himself.

“Ah, Occlumency. Quite a useful talent, Harry,” a cheery voice spoke from a corner of the restricted section.

Harry jumped in his seat, scrambling to his feet as he turned to look at Professor Dumbledore. Harry felt the blood rush from his face. The bloody headmaster just caught him breaking curfew and sneaking into the restricted section.

“Headmaster! I can explain, I was just –” Harry spluttered before falling silent. He’d been caught red-handed. No excuse could get him out of this situation.

“Worry not, Harry. You’re not in trouble. I can understand curiosity, even if it comes at the cost of the rules.” Professor Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he looked down at him.

Harry was confused but kept his guard up. He couldn’t be sure he wasn’t being tricked. “How long have you been here, professor? How did you turn invisible? Do you also have an invisibility cloak?”

“I do not need a cloak to turn invisible, Harry,” said Dumbledore, with a twinkle in his eye. Harry watched in silence, not sure what to say. Dumbledore cut through the awkward silence.

“Professor Flitwick informed me of your ability,” he said. Harry’s eyebrows raised into his fringe. “Sensomagy is very rare, and I was pleased to hear that we have a student with such an affinity this year. I presume that is what you are researching?” Dumbledore walked over to the desk Harry had been using before picking a book from his pile and looking it over.

“Yes, sir,” Harry hesitated before asking. “Am I going to be banned from the library?”

“No, no, Harry,” Dumbledore laughed. “If we pushed students for curiosity, what kind of teachers would we be?”

Harry nodded slowly, still uncertain of his fate.

“Are these all the books you need for your research, Harry?” At his nod, the professor continued. “Then I will allow you to take these back to your dorm with you.”

Dumbledore smiled at Harry’s gobsmacked expression. “Curiosity is a wonderful trait to have. But, as with all talents, it must be tempered lest you find yourself treading the wrong path.”

Harry nodded. He wondered how Dumbledore would react if he knew Harry could speak to snakes. Would he believe that Harry was already on the wrong path? Would he think Harry to be evil?

Dumbledore smiled knowingly. “Magic has the power to create wonders and horrors alike. It is not your talents that make you righteous, but what you use those talents for. Have a good night, Harry.”

The next morning, Harry woke to the loud ringing of Neville’s alarm clock. Usually, he was awake before the alarm even rang, but the holidays had messed up his sleep schedule. After getting ready for classes, Harry entered the common room and saw Hermione sitting alone in an armchair. Unsurprisingly, she had her nose in a book.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” Harry dropped into the chair opposite her as she looked up at him in surprise. “Have a good break?”

“It was good,” she said, putting her book down. “You?”

“Best Christmas I’ve ever had,” Harry grinned.

“Did you get my present?” Hermione asked, suddenly looking nervous. “I hope you liked it. I don’t have a lot of experience giving gifts to friends…” She trailed off, looking a little embarrassed.

“Oh, yeah, I loved it. I’ve read it front to back already. That was nice of you,” Harry nodded, and her expression brightened. “I’ve got yours right here.”

Harry was amused at the sight of the rather prim and reserved Hermione Granger ripping into her present with the same vigour that he’d seen from Ron.

“Harry, this is wonderful, thank you!” Hermione beamed. In her hands was a book – surprise, surprise – on the most famous muggleborns in wizarding history. When Harry wrote to Flourish and Blotts, they’d written him back within the day. Because of who he was, they gave him access not only to their regular selection, but also to their special catalogue that they weren’t allowed to advertise. While Harry hated to rely on his fame, he conceded it was worth it when he saw the title on the list. He felt that way even more, seeing the way his friend’s face lit up as she read the blurb on the back.

“You’re welcome,” Harry smiled. “Sorry that I couldn’t get it to you on Christmas. I wasn’t expecting any presents. I’ve never received any before, so I never really thought about them.”

Harry shrugged casually and looked up for any sign of Ron. He didn’t notice Hermione’s stricken expression.

The two first years swapped stories about their holidays as they waited for the third member of their trio. Hermione told him about her aunt, who got drunk at Christmas dinner and started singing crass renditions of Christmas carols. Harry told her about the time the twins had trapped Ron inside a snowman. He mentioned his invisibility cloak, though he neglected to mention his nighttime excursions or mage sight. Eventually, Ron came down the stairs, and with a short greeting, dragged Harry and Hermione down to the Great Hall for food. As they made the trek to the hall, Harry managed to slow Ron down long enough to give him his Christmas present.

Ron thanked Harry profusely for the new cage for his rat, Scabbers. Harry told Ron that the cage was charmed against breaking, and was coloured bright orange for the Chudley Cannons, Ron’s favourite Quidditch team.

The redhead promised to switch Scabbers into his new cage as soon as he returned to the dorms.

The first day back was brutal. All at once, the professors seemed to remember that exams existed. The first-year Gryffindors ended the day with essays for Potions, Charms, and Herbology due before the next lesson. Professor McGonagall also told her students of a quiz at the end of the week.

The tired first-years trudged back to the common room, grumbling and cursing their professors. Harry saw Alicia, Angelina, and Katie sitting together and sharing a pack of sugar quills.

Harry split off from Ron and Hermione before sitting on the couch next to Alicia.

“Hey, Green Lightning,” Alicia ruffled his hair. He swatted it away playfully and scrunched his nose at the nickname. “How was your break?”

“Quit calling me that,” Harry whined. “My break was brilliant. Thanks for the presents, by the way. I’ve got yours in my dorm.”

“You got us presents?” Katie said with a look of excitement.

“Yeah, I ordered them on Christmas Day. I didn’t think anyone would get me presents, so I didn’t really think about it much,” Harry shrugged. “Let me go get them, actually.”

Harry ran upstairs and retrieved the packages, handing one to each girl. He’d given them each a pair of goggles just like his, with their names on the leather strap. Because none of the girls wore glasses, Harry had skipped out on the eyesight correction charm.

“Harry, are these the goggles we got you?” Alicia gave him a look of shock. “Harry, how much did these cost you? This is way too much!” Angelina and Katie nodded along, though their disapproval seemed much more reluctant.

“I didn’t have to get prescription charms, so it was a lot cheaper. Plus, they gave me a discount when they found out who I was,” Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, and Angelina snorted. “I just thought – since Oliver said the four of us were supposed to work as a unit – we could have matching goggles. I can return them if you don’t like them.” Harry added, his heart sinking at the thought.

“No, no,” Alicia shook her head frantically. “I love it, don’t get me wrong. It’s just—it’s so expensive, are you sure it’s alright for you to make purchases like these? Won’t your guardians be angry?”

A shadow fell over Harry’s face, and his voice turned sharp. “Don’t worry, they won’t care. They don’t even know I have any money.” Harry sat down next to Alicia, not noticing the concerned look the older girls shared. “Don’t worry about the money, I’ll be fine. I just wanted to thank you for the gifts and for letting me play with you.”

“Aww, that’s sweet. Thanks, Harry.” Harry felt Alicia’s arms wrap around him, and he stiffened involuntarily.

Whenever Aunt Petunia hugged Dudley, he would whine about her embarrassing him, or he’d kick her. Harry didn’t think either of those reactions was appropriate here. So, he just sat still, enjoying the embrace without returning it.

“I really do love it,” Alicia tried her goggles on. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we’re going to beat Hufflepuff wearing these, and we’ll look damn good doing it.”

Katie cheered at Alicia’s words, prompting a round of laughter.

“There’s more, by the way.” Harry pointed out, and the three girls looked back into the remains of the now-crumpled package. Alicia pulled out a golden pin of a broomstick. She gasped before happily pinning it to her bandanna. Harry received another hug for his efforts.

From her package, Katie pulled a silver cutting knife out of a leather sheath. It was engraved with her initials inside a little church bell.

“Is this for if anyone looks at Cedric the wrong way?” Angelina chuckled, and Katie turned red.

“Mostly for potions ingredients, but that also works,” Harry smirked, and Katie made a rude gesture.

“I could also use it to gut annoying teammates,” Katie pointed the knife in Angelina’s direction, and the girl put her hand on her heart in mock outrage.

“She really is a serial killer,” Angelina wailed. “We’re all going to die!”

Katie shook her head exasperatedly. “Thanks, Harry. I was going to ask Dad if I could get a new knife set during the summer, but I guess now I don’t have to.”

Angelina pulled out a book titled Three Hundred Passes Every Chaser Should Know.

“I thought it would be useful since you want to go pro,” Harry said timidly.

Angelina beamed at him. “I love it. Thanks, Green Lightning.”

Harry glared at her, earning a round of snickers from the girls.

“Three hundred passes?” Katie looked horrified. “Do not let Ollie see that.”

At that moment, the portrait opened, and Oliver walked in with the twins close behind him. Alicia snatched the book from Angelina and hastily stuffed it under her seat.

“If it isn’t my favourite seeker,” Oliver dropped onto the couch on Harry’s other side. “How was break, Harry?”

“It was great,” Harry said, returning the grin from his captain. “Also, aren’t I your only seeker?”

“Technically, Katie is listed as your reserve,” Oliver shrugged, and Harry looked at Katie in surprise.

“No one decent tried out for seeker, reserve or otherwise, so someone had to do it”, the second year shrugged. “Though I do hope you don’t get injured or something because I do not want to play seeker.”

“Maybe I’ll have to land myself in the hospital wing so I can watch you play,” Harry teased.

Oliver paled. “Don’t even joke about that, Harry. I can’t lose my star player.”

“Star player? What are the rest of us, chopped liver?” Alicia glared at Oliver.

“I meant star seeker,” Oliver hastily corrected. Then he looked at the goggles in the chasers’ laps. “What’s that? New goggles?”

“Yeah, Harry got them for us for Christmas,” Angelina grinned, putting hers on. “We’re matching.”

Harry handed the last three presents to his remaining teammates. “Happy Christmas. Sorry, I’m late.”

“Cool! Thanks, Harry,” Oliver prodded the miniature Quidditch pitch Harry got him. The little dots that represented the players moved around with each tap. “Can’t wait till I’m in class and need to note down a formation or something.”

Katie glared at him. “You will not be using that thing in class, Oliver.” He only rolled his eyes.

“Yes, mum,” he deadpanned.

“Fred, George, you guys play cricket?” Parvati Patil was walking past them when Fred ripped open the wrapper on his large present, revealing a flat wooden bat. George opened his, to reveal an identical bat, though a bright red ball the size of his fist also fell out. Harry had seen Uncle Vernon watching a game on the telly once and thought it looked fun.

“What’s cricket?”

“I just got them the bats and a ball, Parvati,” Harry was surprised at his fellow first-year’s excitement. “D’you play?”

“I’m Indian, Harry. Of course, I play,” Parvati grinned at him. “If you ever decide on a pickup game, you’ve got to invite me.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Harry, and the girl walked off with another wistful glance at the twins’ present.

“So, Harry, what’s cricket?” Fred asked. George made a tentative swing, treating the cricket bat like it was a beater’s bat. Oliver ducked under the arc of the swing and glared at the offending twin.

“It’s a muggle sport. Someone throws a ball at you, and you hit it as far as you can with the bat,” Harry explained, watching the twins’ faces light up at the word ‘muggle’.

“Muggle sport, eh? Dad’ll love this,” Fred held his bat in his hand awkwardly. “Am I holding it right? It’s weirdly balanced.”

“You’re supposed to hold it so the end touches the ground.”

“Ah.”

The Gryffindor Quidditch team spent the rest of the evening joking around and trying out the various presents they had given each other. At one point, Fred threw his new cricket ball at Angelina. She then proceeded to pry George’s cricket bat from his fingers and chase Fred around the common room. Harry watched in astonishment as they stopped running and started sword-fighting.

Harry’s friends were all mental, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

This was the best winter holiday ever.

Chapter Text

“All right, ten laps of the pitch, everyone!” Oliver shouted and jogged off without looking back. Behind him, the rest of the team looked at each other in shock. He knew he was being harsh on his players, but he didn’t have a choice.

The way he saw it, Oliver only had three years left to win the Quidditch Cup. If they wanted to win it this year, their next game against Hufflepuff would be crucial. If they won that match, they’d beat Slytherin in the standings, almost securing a top-two finish.  The fact that Snape would be refereeing the match only added to his stress. It didn’t escape him that the head of Slytherin house was refereeing the game which might put his house out of cup contention.

By the end of the run, even Oliver was panting heavily. He looked at his players – the best Quidditch team he’d seen Gryffindor put together in the five years he’d been at Hogwarts. If he couldn’t win it with this squad… Well, he didn’t want to consider that possibility.

Gryffindor would lift the cup this year, he’d make sure of it.

After a gruelling workout, Oliver’s players were scattered across the grass. He walked over to the water pitchers and handed out little paper cups of water. Goblets made of plant-based parchment. Oliver thought it was amazing some of the things muggles thought up to live without magic.

After a few minutes of rest, Oliver stood up and dusted the grass off his shorts. He walked over to Alicia, who was lying near him, picked up her green and gold Holyhead Harpies bandanna and dusted it off before throwing it in her face. “Up you get,” he forced the cheeriness into his voice. “We’ve still got a whole practice left to get to.”

Alicia picked the bandanna off her face before glaring at him. He grinned back. He held out his hand and she accepted it, pulling herself off the ground. She stretched gingerly before stalking back to the lockers where her broom was stashed. One by one, his players filed inside, and he followed behind them.

The locker room was dead when Oliver walked out of the captain’s office. Normally there was chatter. Alicia and Angelina could usually be found teasing Harry or Katie. Fred and George were usually joking around about something or the other. Right then, everyone looked borderline comatose. Oliver hoped he hadn’t pushed them too far.

“All right, brooms out,” Oliver lifted his trusty Cleansweep 7 off its rack. “Double practice routine today. We’ll do a couple manoeuvre drills and a scrimmage or two. Then finish with chase drills and situations.”

His players groaned before shuffling out the door. Harry jogged back in with a sheepish grin when he realised he’d left his broom behind. Oliver shook his head fondly and walked outside, shaking off the tight feeling in his gut.

The practice was a bust. The chasers were barely keeping upright on their broom, and Oliver hadn’t seen this many missed passes in the entire time he’d known them. Harry was struggling to keep his eyes open. He flew around slower than usual, and though Oliver could tell Harry was trying his hardest, it simply wasn’t up to the standard he’d come to expect from the first year. Fred and George weren’t even pretending to practice. The bludgers were still in their crate and the twins flew around the pitch, dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms.

“Will you two stop messing around?” Oliver snapped, flying over to the twins. The rest of the team stopped what they were doing and watched as a red-faced Oliver chewed out the twins. “This is exactly the type of messing around that’ll lose us the match! Snape’s refereeing the next game, and you all know he’d do anything to make sure we lose!”

George slipped and fell off his broom for real.

“Snape’s refereeing?” Harry flew over, snitch entirely forgotten.

“He volunteered,” Oliver grimaced, and his players matched his expression.

“Everyone knows he hates Gryffindor,” Fred complained as he helped George get back on his broom. “He’ll probably foul us for breathing.”

Oliver shrugged helplessly, then gestured at everyone to hit the ground. “We’re done for the day. I don’t think anyone’s got their heart in it anyway.” He was certain that if they ‘practised’ anymore, someone would end up getting hurt. His players were trying their hardest, but after the gruelling warmup and the bad news, they seemed drained.

Oliver decided he’d pushed them too far.

The team trudged through the muddy pitch in a sombre mood. The thought of Snape refereeing had sapped the players of the little energy they’d had left.

Just like it had been earlier, the changing rooms were sombre. Once his players had left, Oliver went into the captain's office and locked the door. He slumped in the desk chair and stared at the Gryffindor emblem on the door.

Guilt gnawed at him as he absently tapped on the desk. The emblem mocked him every time he entered the office. Where was the nobility in pushing his players to near-collapse to soothe his insecurities? Where was the bravery in hiding in this office, surrounded by the accolades of his predecessors that he could never hope to live up to?

Oliver slumped forward and held his head in his hands.

He was tired.

He was tired of being the leader. Of being the person that everyone looked to for guidance. He was tired of having to be everyone’s rock, pretending to have his life together when he was desperately in need of an anchor of his own.

Oliver felt like he was adrift at sea. OWLs, Quidditch, and even childish crushes battered away at his resolve. He didn’t know when he would crack. A part of him wondered if he would feel better afterwards. He’d been tempted to let it all out before. But Harry would ask him for advice on a charms essay, or Katie would ask him to teach her an aerial manoeuvre, and he would retreat behind the façade of control and carefree confidence once more.

Under the easygoing grin and Quidditch obsession was a boy desperate for reassurance and someone to lean on. Yet, he was so busy being that for everyone else that he never asked or received it for himself.

A part of him felt he didn’t deserve it.

No matter what he did, he couldn’t convince himself it was enough. He felt like an imposter. He didn’t deserve to be their leader. What did he have that they didn’t? Angelina was as dedicated and athletic as he was. Harry was the most talented flier he’d ever seen. The twins had an innate charisma that he couldn’t possibly replicate. Alicia was funny and Katie was so caring and kind. There was nothing he could do that they couldn’t do better.

But they still looked up to him for whatever reason.

Oliver felt like he was drowning and didn’t know what to do. They all looked to him to guide them. He felt that showing weakness was failing them, even if it was only in the privacy of his own office.

Sobs racked his body as the guilt and overwhelming feeling of inadequacy tore at him. It ripped him to pieces over and over, and though he knew the solution, he couldn’t find it in himself to let anyone share the burden. He knew he had friends who would listen. He knew they would.

But it didn’t matter.

Because they needed him. They needed him to be strong.

Oliver wiped the tears and squared his shoulders. He stretched and cleared his throat. He rubbed at his eyes and looked in the mirror. His eyes were still a little red around the edges, but he felt he could excuse it as a rough facewash.

He fixed his usual carefree smile and walked out of the captain’s office. He checked on his players’ brooms, and once satisfied, took a leisurely stroll back to the castle.

Over the next week, Oliver held two more practices. While he’d learned his lesson and tempered the intensity of the training, he’d upped the frequency.

He spent all his free time either studying for his OWLs or jogging around the lake. The weather was rather cold, but the icy air helped clear his mind. It was his only escape when things got overwhelming.

On the morning of the team’s second match of the year, Oliver was feeling rather claustrophobic, so he decided to go for a run. He ran two laps around the lake. The sharp clarity of the frosty air burning in his lungs cleared his thoughts. He’d barely broken a sweat when he returned to the castle, but he wanted to conserve his energy for the game and the warmup he would put his players through.

“What’re you doing up this early, Oliver?” asked a voice with a slight Irish lilt.

Oliver inhaled sharply before turning around. “Hey, Penny. Just going for a bit of a run.”

“You sporty types all have a screw loose in your heads,” Penelope Clearwater teased with a grin. “Going running outside in this weather…” She shook her head in disbelief.

“Well, I reckon the Quidditch Cup isn’t going to win itself,” Oliver said. He casually slipped his hands into his pockets to hide his clammy palms.

“Don’t get too confident on me now,” The pretty blonde prefect wagged her finger with a playful smirk. “Ravenclaw’s got it in the bag this year, I tell you.”

Oliver snorted. “I guess we’ll have to see then,” He winked at her. “I’ll let your precious ‘Claws get to the finals then we’ll beat ‘em there just so I can wipe that smirk off your face.”

Penny let out a laugh like tinkling bells and Oliver found himself joining in. The two walked into the Great Hall, where they split up. Penny turned at the Ravenclaw table while Oliver walked further down to the Gryffindors.

Angelina was the only member of the team at the table, so Oliver sat down across from her.

“So, you and Penelope Clearwater, eh?” Angelina turned around and looked not-so-subtly at the Ravenclaw table. Oliver blushed into the roots of his hair. “Did you think dating a prefect would allow you to hold practice after curfew or something?”

“We’re not dating,” Oliver hissed with narrowed eyes, though he felt the blood rush up his cheeks.

“But you fancy her?” Angelina asked. Oliver remained silent, which prompted a predatory grin. “Oh, Alicia’s going to LOVE this. Oh Merlin, imagine what Katie’s going to say!”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Oliver begged, and her smile turned into a pout.

“You’re no fun, Oliver,” she gave him a pleading look. “Can I just tell Alicia and Katie? I won’t tell the twins or Harry. Pleeeaase?”

Oliver just stared at her with a silent plea.

“Fine.” She conceded with a huff and Oliver smiled gratefully. He ate in silence until Harry dropped into the seat next to him.

“Morning,” the firstie mumbled sleepily, already lathering a sausage with ketchup.

“Good sleep?” Oliver asked with amusement. “Rather chipper, you are. Especially compared to last match.”

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged. “Don’t feel as nervous this time.” He took a large bite out of his sausage.

“Good. You shouldn’t be,” Oliver slapped him on the back. “You’re too damn good on a broom to let nerves get the better of you.”

“‘Fank you,” Harry said through his sausage.

One by one, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team shuffled in. Oliver was happy to note that, just like Harry, Katie seemed a lot less nervous. Alicia looked like she would fall asleep on the table.

“Late night?” Oliver asked her. She nodded sleepily.

“Charms assignment. He’s going to kill me one day, Flitwick,” Alicia grumbled, and Harry snorted. She glared at him. “Can you pass the kettle, Harry? There’s a dear, thank you.”

“I love how sleep-deprived Alicia turns Victorian,” Angelina elbowed her best friend, who swatted at her sleepily. Oliver grinned.

“If you need any help, ‘Licia, I can go over it with you tonight after the match,” he offered. Alicia took a long swig of her tea and nodded slowly.

“I’ll take you up on that. Thanks, Oliver.”

He nodded and turned to Katie. “Not nervous today?”

Katie shook her head and grinned. “Nah, I know I’m the best chaser at Hogwarts, I’ll be fine.”

“Hey! I resent that,” Alicia mock glared as Angelina pelted Katie with a cube of cheese. The second year only grinned at her fellow chasers.

An hour later, the Gryffindor Quidditch team stood in the locker room, waiting to be announced.

Alicia, Angelina, Katie, and Harry grinned at each other, wearing their matching goggles. Oliver thought they looked a little silly, but at the same time thought the gesture was rather sweet. “Looking good, you four! Prettiest princesses, the lot of you,” He called out as he passed them on the way to the door. Katie and Alicia made a rude gesture simultaneously before looking at each other and breaking into giggles.

Madam Hooch’s voice rang through the room, informing them they would be announced in a minute. Oliver beckoned his players into a huddle.

“All right. We all know the stakes today,” Oliver looked at each of his players and was pleased to see the same fierce determination in their eyes. “We win this game, we’re in running to win the cup. If we win this game, we knock out Slytherin.”

Fred and George cheered, prompting a round of laughter.

“I know Snape is refereeing. I know he’s going to be horribly biased against us. But we’re the better team. As long as we play our game, and we play a clean game, we’ll win. We’ve got the better team,” Oliver looked at the chasers. “We’ve the best chaser trio at Hogwarts, and the scariest beaters I’ve ever seen,” Oliver nodded at the twins before turning to Harry. “We’ve also got the youngest seeker in a century. Catch that snitch fast, Harry. We’re counting on you today.”

“- IS GRYFFINDOR. CHASERS BELL, SPINNET, AND JOHNSON. What a flier, Johnson is. Stunning too…” Lee’s voice echoed through the room, punctuated by McGonagall’s loud “JORDAN!”

Angelina snorted. Oliver nodded at the girls, who picked up their brooms and flew onto the pitch.

“KEEPER AND CAPTAIN WOOD, BEATERS WEASLEY AND WEASLEY. Bloody difficult to tell those two apart, I tell you. Couldn’t even help your best mate out by colouring your hair, eh, Fred, George? And last but not least, SEEKER HARRY POTTER, GREEN LIGHTNING!”

Oliver laughed as he flew out with the twins and a red-faced Harry right behind him. He watched Harry fly past him to join the chasers on their lap around the pitch. Oliver flew straight for the middle, where the sixth-year Hufflepuff captain, Hartley Summers, was waiting for him.

“Nice day out isn’t it, Wood?” She greeted him pleasantly. He smiled at her in return, always enjoying the refreshing behaviour of the Hufflepuff after dealing with Flint and the Slytherins.

“You should’ve seen it earlier this morning,” Oliver responded. “Right freezing. I went for a run and thought my toes would fall off.”

Summers laughed as her teammates floated into the air behind her. Oliver looked back to see his players behind him as well.

“All right, I want a clean game,” Madam Hooch spoke, though missing was the bite that’d been in the same words before the Slytherin game. At the nod of the captains, she gestured to them to shake hands, and they complied. “Good luck to both of you. To your positions.”

Oliver flew to his hoops and watched his chasers form a semi-circle for the first contest. Madam Hooch tossed the quaffle into the air and Katie and Alicia shot for the ball.

A Hufflepuff chaser flew at Katie, while Angelina headed off a second one. Katie turned away from the quaffle, tricking her mark into getting in the path of the third chaser. Alicia flew out of the chaos clutching the quaffle. Angelina and Katie stayed close behind her, forming a tight Hawkshead formation.

Oliver watched proudly as the Hufflepuff chasers struggled to break the Gryffindor formation until a bludger scattered them. Alicia, pursued by two Hufflepuff chasers, threw a pass to Angelina. Oliver watched the ball soar towards his lead chaser with concern. She was struggling to break free of her mark, who was simply waiting for the ball to come to him. When it seemed Gryffindor would lose possession, a red blur swooped down and snatched the quaffle. Katie adjusted the elevation, so she was well below the other players. She shot toward the hoops with the Hufflepuff chasers far behind her. She dodged a bludger and entered the scoring zone.

Katie was still too far below the scoring zone, and Oliver watched her next move with bated breath. Angelina had reached the penalty box, while Alicia stalled the opposing chasers.

The Hufflepuff keeper was only a dot from Oliver’s perspective, but he could tell that his counterpart was struggling to keep track of the two chasers. A Hufflepuff broke into the scoring zone and flew for Katie.

She feinted a shot for the left hoop. Oliver was certain the keeper wouldn’t fall for it, as Katie’s lowered elevation made that shot very awkward to hit. A second Hufflepuff chaser had now entered the penalty box and made for Angelina.

As one, Katie crossed from the left to the right hoop, and Angelina flew from the right hoop to the centre. Their marks followed them, creating a tiny gap as they trailed behind. Katie careened past the centre hoop as the keeper approached it.

But the quaffle wasn’t in Katie’s hands. She’d thrown it straight up and flew for the right hoop. When the keeper moved back toward the right hoop, Angelina curved around, making a circle back to the right. Instead of catching the quaffle, she used the inertia of her turn to punch it, sending it rocketing into the centre hoop.

The crowd cheered as the ball sailed through. Angelina stood still momentarily, and Oliver assumed she was regaining her bearings after all that spinning. Alicia joined the girls for their victory lap and Oliver cheered as they crossed him.

These moments in the air made Oliver feel he could forget all his worries. The stress and the pressure faded away as he watched his players succeed.

The rest of the game was rather boring. Oliver barely got to do anything. After that first play, the ball stayed in the middle of the pitch, since the chasers were mostly evenly matched. The quaffle came to him only thrice, and of those, only one went through. Snape tried to award fouls to Gryffindor at every opportunity, but the upside of playing Hufflepuff was that both teams understood sportsmanship. The game was clean, with teamwork and strategy prevailing over roughhousing and cheap tricks.

“POTTER’S SEEN THE SNITCH,” Lee Jordan’s voice boomed just under the five-minute mark. “Diggory’s on the other side of the pitch. He’s gaining on Potter fast, but it seems like Potter might have it. Beautiful bludger by Weasley sets Diggory back. Bludger from Rickett towards Potter but it’s intercepted by the other Weasley. Potter’s slowing down. HE’S GOT IT. GRYFFINDOR WIN, ONE-HUNDRED-SEVENTY TO TEN. A CATCH IN UNDER FIVE MINUTES THAT MUST BE A RECORD -”

Oliver flew over to the mass of scarlet that was his team. The chasers were all landed, surrounding Harry in a bear hug. “Dog pile!” the twins yelled in unison grabbing Oliver by the sleeve, tearing him off his broom, and jumping on top of the chasers and Harry, sending everyone tumbling to the floor.

Oliver laughed merrily from where he was lying on top of someone, until that someone shifted to get up, and elbowed him in the solar plexus. Oliver groaned before rolling off the pile into the grass. “Sorry!” Harry’s muffled voice sounded from under Fred’s arm.

“Geroff, you ginger devils,” Angelina grumbled from under the pile and shoved George and Alicia off her. The team untangled themselves as they were flooded by students wearing red and gold.

“You didn’t even let us score more than two goals,” Alicia had her arm around Harry’s shoulders and mock pouted. Her new goggles were propped up over her bandanna. “I wanted to show off my Christmas present.”

“Next time, I’ll let the other guy catch it,” Harry grinned. “Let’s hope you can make fifteen points by then.”

Once again, the twins hoisted Harry on their shoulders, and the younger boy whooped as they made a running start for the castle. Somehow, they made it halfway through the pitch before the three of them fell over. Oliver helped Katie off the grass before he walked with his team back to Gryffindor Tower where he imagined a party would be brewing.

For the moments like these, all the trouble really was worth it.

Harry and Hermione were not happy campers as they reported to Filch’s office for detention. Neville followed them but kept his eyes on the floor, unresponsive to any of Harry’s attempts to talk to him. Their moods only worsened when Malfoy joined the group that was heading for Hagrid’s hut, complaining the entire time.

“Yeah, yeah, your father will hear about this,” Harry grumbled. “Shut up Malfoy.”

The other boy just glared.

At his hut, the gamekeeper waited for the students and Filch. He stood on his front steps, with a gigantic crossbow slung over his shoulder and his boarhound, Fang, at his side.

“All right there, Harry, Hermione?” Hagrid asked, smiling down at them.

“Now, now, don’t go too soft on them, Hagrid. This is a detention after all,” Filch leered at the four first years. “The forest’s got some nasty things lurkin’ inside. Stay close to Hagrid, else you might run into one.”

With a curt nod to Hagrid, Filch turned back to the castle.

“Surely, we aren’t going into the Forbidden Forest? Father says there are werewolves in there!” Draco squeaked and his already pasty complexion paled further. Harry found himself sharing the other boy’s sentiment. Neville looked on the verge of fainting.

“There aren’t going to be werewolves, Malfoy,” Hermione rolled her eyes and pointed at the sky, where a half-moon shone dully. “It’s not even the full moon.” Harry snickered as Malfoy glared at Hermione.

The quintet and Fang entered the forest. The students tread carefully, looking at each nesting squirrel or rustling leaf as if it would eat them. They arrived at a fork in the path and Hagrid told them they would have to split up. Harry and Hermione went with Hagrid while Neville and Malfoy opted to go with Fang, the latter glancing at the canine’s sharp teeth.

“If ye run inter anythin’, ask Fang to take ye back to the castle,” Hagrid advised, looking unnaturally serious. “Nothin’ in the forest will attack if Fang’s with ye, they’ll know yer with me.”

The quintet split, with Malfoy and Neville veering off to the left fork. Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid traipsed through the underbrush, searching for the telltale signs of conflict – specifically for some evidence of a unicorn.

A distant rustling sound came to their right, and the trio turned to look at it. Hagrid levelled his crossbow in the direction of the sound, and Hermione clutched Harry’s arm in a vice grip. The rustling grew closer and closer, and Harry saw Hagrid tense. A creature burst out of the trees, coming to a stop before them.

The creature had a human face and chest, with long red hair. From the waist down, the creature had the gleaming chestnut body of a horse – a centaur, Harry remembered from a cartoon Harry had seen Dudley watching. He winced as he remembered Uncle Vernon’s reaction when he caught Harry watching from the foyer.

“Ronan!” Hagrid called, and Harry felt Hermione’s grip loosen as he lowered his crossbow. “Blimey, ye can’t be goin’ around scarin’ people like that.”

“Hello, Hagrid,” Ronan spoke in a low, mournful voice. He looked old, and his red locks were peppered with grey. “Were you going to shoot me?”

“No, no, of course not,” Hagrid shook his head. “There’s somethin’ in the forest goin’ around attacking unicorns. I’m a little jumpy, s’all. This here’s Harry and Hermione. Students from the castle.”

Harry nodded warily as Hermione gave an awkward wave. Ronan didn’t acknowledge them, opting to look up at the sky.

“Mars is bright tonight.”

“Er- yes, yes, it is,” Hagrid also looked up, but he looked more confused than anything. “Say, Ronan, have you seen whatever it is that’s attackin’ the unicorns?”

Ronan didn’t hear him. “Mars is bright tonight.”

“Right, ‘bout the unicorns –”

Hagrid was interrupted by the appearance of another centaur. This one had a black coat on its horse-body and scraggly black hair which gave it a wild look.

“Hullo, Bane,” Hagrid greeted the newly arrived centaur, who inclined his head in response.

“Mars is bright tonight. Luna is in anticipation,” the other centaur said as a form of greeting. Harry saw Hagrid’s face contort in frustration.

After another minute of Hagrid trying to unsuccessfully cajole information out of the centaurs, they cantered off, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid alone once again. That was when red sparks illuminated the sky.

“Malfoy! Longbottom!” Hagrid yelled, running in the direction of the sparks. Harry and Hermione followed close behind him. He couldn’t care less what happened to Malfoy, but he’d never forgive himself if something happened to Neville. It was Harry’s fault that he was in the forest to begin with. They found him on the ground with Fang next to him. “Where is it?”

“There’s nothing,” Neville mumbled. “Malfoy scared me.”

The blond had hidden behind a tree and jumped at Neville, who panicked and sent up the sparks.

Hagrid groaned. “Damn it, Malfoy. All right, split up again, but this time Harry, can ye swap with Neville?”

Harry nodded and looked at the grumbling boy on the ground. He held out his hand for Neville, who took it gratefully. Harry gave him a weak smile before walking off behind Fang. He heard Malfoy following him.

The two boys waded deeper into the forest. The sound of nature was punctuated unpleasantly by Malfoy’s complaining.

“This is servants’ work. I shouldn’t be out here. When my father hears about this, he’ll have Hagrid sacked.”

Harry could only roll his eyes. He hoped Malfoy would run out of breath soon.

Fang stopped just before a clearing, and Harry realised why. A pure white stallion lay sideways on the dirt. Harry could just barely see its horn peeking out over its head. Leaning over it was a hooded figure. Harry was frozen in place. Malfoy, who’d been following closely behind him, let out a shriek and bolted backwards, with Fang following him. The figure looked up at Harry and his forehead felt like it exploded with pain.

It was a sensation like Harry had never felt before. He felt like someone had taken a power drill and was driving it into his skull, right through his scar. His vision blurred and he stepped backwards, tripping on an exposed root. The cloaked figure approached him, and Harry couldn’t make out any features under the shadow of its hood. The only feature Harry could discern was a silver liquid, glimmering like mercury, dribbling down the figure’s chin.

Adrenaline pumped through Harry’s veins and his vision cleared. He felt his senses extend as his mage sight activated. The forest changed colours as the many magical flora and fauna were highlighted. His attention was still on the hooded figure that looked up at him and the unicorn it had just drained of blood.

The unicorn’s magic was a brilliant, blinding white. It seemed to call to him, begging him, pleading him to save it. Watching the creature’s suffering filled Harry with righteous anger, cutting through the blinding pain. He glared at the monster that had slain such an innocent creature.

The figure’s magic manifested as smoke. Silver strands bound the pitch-black smoke to its form. Harry’s rage increased tenfold when he realised why the thing that killed the unicorn had such familiar magic.

Harry glared hatefully at the approaching figure. Harry heard behind him the clamouring sound of hooves. A bright, golden creature jumped over Harry, right into the hooded figure. The figure bowled over and snarled at the creature before flying away, contorting itself in ways Harry didn’t know was possible.

In the absence of the figure, the pain in Harry’s scar subsided. His breathing slowed down, and he gingerly stood up. Standing in front of him was another centaur. This one was younger, with silky blond hair and a gleaming golden coat.

“Hello, Harry Potter,” the centaur spoke softly. “My name is Firenze.”

“Hi Firenze,” Harry said meekly. “Thanks for the save.”

“You are welcome, Chosen,” the centaur inclined its head.

“Chosen?” Harry asked. Was this another moniker the wizarding world had given him to celebrate his survival from Voldemort?

“Ah, you do not know,” Firenze looked amused. “It matters not. We must get you out of here, for it is not safe for you in the forest. Can you ride?”

Harry nodded and scrambled on top of the centaur. Before they could move, the two centaurs from earlier, Ronan and Bane, burst out of the woods.

“Firenze!” Bane roared. “Have you no shame? Letting a human ride you like a common mule!”

Harry made to get off. He didn’t want to cause problems for his saviour, but Firenze gestured for him to stay put.

“This is no ordinary human, Bane!” Firenze said. “This is him. This is Harry Potter. You divined it yourself. Luna is in anticipation – clearly it is for her mother’s chosen.”

That seemed to placate Ronan, but Bane was undeterred.

“It matters not. We do not interfere with the plans of the Moirai, Firenze. We only observe,” Bane spoke angrily. “You know the Chosen’s destiny. Do not set yourself against the gods for these humans.”

“I do not set myself against the gods,” Firenze glared at the older centaur. “I set myself against the monster that is killing the Light Mother’s sacred animals. If that means I must aid humans, so mote it be.”

With that, Firenze galloped back the way he’d come.

“Do centaurs not get along with humans?” Harry asked curiously.

“Humans tend to view centaurs as creatures to be studied, rather than equals to live among,” Firenze explained. “As you can see, my kind don’t take lightly to being patronised.”

“Well, I think of you as an equal, for what that’s worth.”

Firenze chuckled. “Thank you, Chosen.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Harry scrunched his nose. “Is it because I’m the Boy-Who-Lived?”

“No, no, it has nothing to do with your human-given title. Among the centaurs, there is a legend. Beings who can see magic in its purest form,” Firenze explained. “There are those who can not only see magic in its most primal form but can harness it to manipulate the world in ways that most cannot even imagine.”

“Sensomagy?”

“To an extent, yes. Theia is the mother of illumination and sight, from whose womb sprung the sun and the moon itself. You, Harry Potter, are the recipient of her blessing. You are her Chosen.”

“Her Chosen?” Harry looked nervous. “Are you sure she picked right? I’m not really worthy of a goddess’s blessing. I mean, I’m just Harry.”

“The Light Mother does not make mistakes, Harry Potter. She sees all and knows all. She sees greatness within you. Even the centaurs have foreseen it.”

“My mother also had my powers. Did she also have – um – Thea’s Blessing, like me?”

“They-ya’s Blessing,” Firenze enunciated patiently, and Harry turned crimson. “But it is possible, as the blessing can be passed on through bloodlines.”

“Mum was a muggleborn,” Harry scrunched his nose. “She wouldn’t have any magical bloodline to get blessings from.”

“Perhaps your mother had magical ancestry that was dormant for a time.” Harry wondered if that meant he might have other family members. If they existed, he’d like to meet them.

“Do you know someone who can teach me to use this – this blessing?” Harry asked hopefully. “I’ve looked in the library and I can barely find anything.”

“Theia’s blessing is rare, Chosen,” Firenze shook his head, to Harry’s dismay. “There is none among the centaurs who are capable, and the last of her Chosen died half a century ago, since your mother never fully accepted her blessing. Regardless, only one Chosen can exist in the world at a time, so your blessing never would have been realised until her passing anyway.”

Harry nodded sadly. Once again, he met a dead end in learning to harness his mother’s abilities. He noticed absently that Firenze had slowed down to a trot.

“What do you mean, fully accepted?”

“That I cannot tell you, Harry Potter,” Firenze shook his head. “Every Chosen’s journey is their own. But fret not, the Light Mother will come to you. She has already marked you as her Chosen.”

“She’s marked me?” Harry’s hand went to his scar.

“Not that mark, Chosen,” said the centaur. “This mark is unseen, except for when you channel her domain. Try using your true sight tonight in front of a mirror. You will see her mark.”

Harry was unsure what the centaur expected to happen, but he nodded anyway.

“Wait, but Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin were both Sentiomagi,” Harry pointed out after a moment’s silence. “They were both alive at the same time, right?”

“Ah, they were Sentiomagi,” Firenze said, and Harry could tell the word was foreign to him. “But were they both Chosen?”

“But you just said –”

“I agreed with you that Sensomagy is the ability to see magic in its purest form,” Firenze corrected. “But I never said that was the same as being Theia’s Chosen.”

Harry frowned. The centaur was just speaking in circles now, which seemed to be a trend among his kind. He thought that meant Firenze had nothing more to tell him.

“Firenze, what did Bane mean when he said that Mars was bright tonight? Or that Luna was in anticipation.”

“Mars is the harbinger of war, Chosen,” Firenze spoke solemnly. “There is one brewing as we converse. Do you know what unicorn’s blood does?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really. We only use their horns and tail hair in class.”

“That is because killing a unicorn is one of the most heinous crimes to commit against nature,” Firenze looked mournful, and Harry thought he was remembering the unicorn carcass they’d abandoned earlier. “That is because to kill a unicorn is to kill something pure. To slay something so innocent is unforgivable. Drinking its blood will restore you to life from even the brink of death. But you can only live a half life, a cursed life.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to just die, then?” Harry asked, horrified and fascinated. “Better die than live the rest of your life cursed.”

“Yes, but for some, such a measure is worth it. For someone with nothing to lose and everything to gain,” Firenze said, and Harry knew that the disgust he felt was mirrored by the centaur. “Tell me, Chosen, do you know what is being hidden in the castle right now?”

“Uh, no…” Harry wondered if it had something to do with the forbidden corridor on the third floor. He and Ron stumbled upon the area during their first week, but he hadn’t paid much attention to it afterwards. He had been so preoccupied with Quidditch and his mage sight. Not to mention the troll and the cursed broom.

“No matter,” Firenze waved him off. “But that which is hidden within the school is a powerful relic. One that has the potential to grant someone the power to spurn Death himself. Do you know of someone desperate enough to go to such lengths?"

Harry’s blood went cold, and it had nothing to do with the cool night. It couldn’t be him. He was dead. That’s what everyone said. Harry was famous for killing him.

No. The word everyone used wasn’t killing. It was defeating.

“Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die.” Echoed Hagrid’s words from his eleventh birthday.

“That was Voldemort?” Harry croaked. Now that he’d said it, it all made sense to him. Why else would the hooded figure want to curse Harry’s broom? It was Voldemort, trying to unseat and kill the boy who was famous for his defeat.

“Yes, Chosen.” The two remained silent for the rest of their journey. Harry’s head swam as he considered the possibility that Voldemort was alive.

When they’d almost reached the edge of the forest, Firenze stopped, and Harry took that as a cue to dismount the centaur.

“Thanks,” Harry said, brushing hair off his robes.

Firenze inclined his head. “To answer your second question, Chosen. As I mentioned earlier, the Light Mother birthed the moon goddess, Luna. The moon maiden’s anticipation simply means that she is awaiting something. It is usually rather vague as to what she is anticipating, but in this case, I thought it was quite clear.”

“What was she waiting for?” Harry quirked an eyebrow. Firenze smiled.

“Who do you think sent me to save you, Harry Potter?” Firenze bowed and galloped back into the forest. Harry noticed that Firenze’s hair and tail seemed to shine abnormally bright in the moonlight.

“Harry! Harry!” Hermione’s voice rang through the woods as she tackled him into a hug. Hagrid huffed as he jogged behind her. “You’re all right! I was so worried.”

“I’m all right ‘Mione,” Harry mumbled, afraid that if he opened his mouth wider, he’d get a mouthful of her bushy hair.

Once Hermione let go, Harry turned to the gamekeeper and pointed towards the clearing. “There’s a dead unicorn down that way. The thing that attacked it was there, but Firenze scared it off.”

“You ran into Firenze?” Hagrid raised an eyebrow. “Good lad, that one. Anywho, let's get you kids back to the castle, then.”

The students made the trek back to the castle in silence. Harry could tell Hermione had a million questions for him but had the sense to wait till they were back in the common room.

Once there, Neville mumbled good night before heading up the stairs. Harry ignored the twinge of guilt as he looked at the boy. He saw Ron sleeping on one of the couches and shook the boy awake.

“Five more minutes, Mum,” He mumbled. Harry snorted and shoved the boy off the couch.

Ron fell to the floor with a yelp. “You’re evil, mate.” He grinned at Harry as he sat next to Hermione on the couch he’d fallen off of. Harry sat opposite them in an armchair.

“What happened in the forest, Harry?” Hermione looked at him, worried. “I’ve never seen you look as terrified as when we found you.”

Harry steadied his nerves before telling them the story. He paused as he got to the clearing. Should he tell his friends about mage sight? Especially now that Firenze said he was a ‘Chosen’. Whatever that meant. But at the same time, he still wanted this secret for himself. It was still the only thing that was uniquely his. According to Firenze, he was the only person in the entire world with his powers. But he really should tell them.

“Firenze thinks it was Voldemort,” Ron and Hermione flinched. The room seemed to get colder as a heavy silence settled over them. “I think it makes sense. I also think he jinxed my broom, back in my first Quidditch match.”

“Harry, are you sure?” Hermione worried her lip between her teeth. “Everyone says Voldemort’s gone.”

“Gone, Hermione, not dead,” Harry pointed out. “Firenze says there’s something hidden in the castle – in the third-floor corridor. Something that could resurrect Voldemort.”

“Bloody hell…” Ron looked terrified. “Then why would he bother attacking you?”

“Same reason he came after my parents, I suppose,” Harry said bitterly. “I reckon he wants to finish the job.”

Hermione let out a strangled sound somewhere between a sob and a wail. Ron patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

“Now what?” Ron asked him. Harry looked at him in surprise.

“You’re sticking around? You want to help?”

“Of course we want to help Harry,” Hermione sniffled. “We’re not letting him get you.”

“Yeah, can’t let You-Know-Who off my best mate, can I?” Ron grinned, and Harry choked back a sob of his own.

“Thank you.”

He’d never had people willing to stick by him through a trip to the principal’s office, let alone a dark wizard coming after him.

You’ll only get them hurt. Just like everyone else who cares for you. Just like your parents.

Harry pointedly ignored the stray thought.

“If Firenze thinks there’s something hidden in the third-floor corridor, then we should see what’s down there,” said Harry. Ron nodded but Hermione looked hesitant.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione frowned. “I’m sure Professor Dumbledore is protecting whatever is in that corridor. There’s not much we can do. We’ve already gotten in so much trouble. I don’t want to give our housemates more reason to hate us.”

Harry agreed with Hermione. Because of the Norbert incident, Harry, Hermione, and Neville were pariahs within Gryffindor. Even the rest of the school was unhappy with them, minus Slytherin, who was overjoyed to see Gryffindor drop to fourth place. Despite three of them having lost the points, Harry, as the Gryffindor seeker and Boy-Who-Lived, took the brunt of their ire. Hermione and Neville weren’t as well known, and Harry was happy that they weren’t ostracised with him.

He hadn’t seen his Quidditch teammates since the incident. He had avoided them out of fear of their reaction. He didn’t know if they would want to be his friends anymore and he found that thought hurt him more than he expected.

“You’re right Hermione,” Harry said grudgingly. “We’ll figure something out. Maybe Firenze was wrong.”

The three first years sat in silence next to the fireplace, and Harry tried not to think about Voldemort. Just the thought of his parents’ murderer sent shivers down his spine. But there was a part of him that felt differently. The sight of the dying unicorn crossed his mind, and Harry felt that same boiling rage within him. Harry didn’t know why he was so angry at the thought of the dying unicorns, but he let it fill him as he stared into the flickering flames.

First his parents, then the unicorns. How many more innocents would Voldemort hurt?

Harry’s fingernails dug into his palms.

Hermione let out a long yawn and announced she was going to her dorm. When the boys entered theirs, Ron, already in his pyjamas, promptly fell into his bed. Harry hadn’t even closed the door to the bathroom when he heard Ron’s snores fill the room.

He looked in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. As always, his eyes went to his scar. When he was little, he loved the scar. A boy in his elementary school had said it was “wicked.” Then Dudley caught the two of them talking and the boy never spoke to Harry again. The scar made Harry unique. It distinguished him from the relatives he loathed. But now, knowing the story behind it, he couldn’t look at it without thinking of all that could have been if he had never received it.

He was so focused on his scar that he never noticed he’d triggered his mage sight until the bathroom began glowing around him. Harry gasped as he stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes glowed emerald, like sunlight peeking through stained glass. He looked down at his hands. Glowing white markings shone from his palms, travelling up his arms. He pulled down his loose nightshirt and found the markings travelled up to his chest and stopped at his neck.

His attention was caught, not by his glowing markings or eyes, but by the black wisp of smoke that leaked from his scar. He touched it carefully. He gasped and tore his hand away. His fingers felt cold like he’d dipped them in the Great Lake in January. He touched the rest of his forehead, which felt warm like the human body was supposed to.

The feeling from his scar was similar to the feeling from the figure in the forest – Voldemort. But it felt weaker than the being in the forest, and it was missing the silver binding. Instead, this magic was bound by strands of red, green, and white. Harry’s magic wrapped the foreign signature, and he watched it twist and fizzle underneath.

Harry shivered as he watched the never-ending battle. Once again, the magic felt familiar, but it was just different enough that Harry couldn’t confidently say it was Voldemort.

Perhaps he should visit Madam Pomfrey and ask her to check it over. He disabused that notion immediately. If something was wrong with him, he couldn’t risk his relatives finding out. The nurses from elementary school always reported his injuries back to his aunt. She would smile and nod at the nurse, before going home and shoving him into his cupboard without meals as punishment for causing a scene.

Harry sighed and blinked, watching the world return to gloomy darkness. He spat out the toothpaste before climbing into bed. Feeling something cool under his sheet, Harry pulled out a bundle of dark, shimmering fabric – his invisibility cloak. Harry held the cloak with awe. He thought he’d lost it for good on the Astronomy Tower. When Harry shifted to stuff his cloak back in his rucksack, a note fluttered out from within the folds.

Just in case.

Harry was in a considerably better mood when he went back to bed. His thoughts drifted back to Voldemort in the forest, but he managed to distract himself with his relief over getting his cloak back and the excitement that he’d managed to use his mage sight without closing his eyes for the first time. It was a huge step forward in his studies to become a Sentiomagus like his mother.

That night, Harry’s dreams were invaded by unicorns, cloaked figures, and a woman with pale features and the brightest grey eyes he’d ever seen.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry woke up at the break of dawn. As he’d become accustomed, he quickly showered and changed before slipping out of the common room just after curfew ended. Normally, he would find an abandoned classroom and work on his occlumency. Then he’d go down to the Great Hall and eat something before his housemates arrived. Today, however, he had different ideas.

With his invisibility cloak returned to him, Harry was emboldened to check out the third-floor corridor. He took a side staircase there before slipping into an alcove, donning his cloak, and entering the corridor.

The forbidden corridor on the third floor looked like every other corridor in the castle. Harry silently crept through, straining his senses for anything of interest. He tried to keep his eyes open while activating his mage sight. What had happened naturally twice the previous night seemed so difficult now that he was attempting it consciously.

He concentrated on the feeling of the markings on his body and screwed his eyes shut. It might have been counterproductive, but he needed to focus.

His senses dulled as he let himself be swallowed by the feeling of clarity that had enveloped him last night as the magic that surrounded him finally revealed itself.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his palms. The glowing marks shone as clear as day. Harry looked up at the corridor before him. He paced through it once more. This time he searched for any magical traces.

One of the doors had a slight blue tinge on the knob. Harry shuffled over and looked curiously at the blue and orange tendrils of magic that slid across the doorknob and into the keyhole.

He placed his hand on the knob and felt a sensation like the flame of a candle prickling against his hand. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable. He twisted the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. He pulled out his wand and tapped it against the door, “Alohomora.”

Harry watched in fascination as his red-and-green magic left his wand and unravelled the strands binding the doorknob. He heard an audible click and pushed the door open while pulling his arm back under the cloak.

A loud snoring sound was the first thing Harry noticed. Next was the smell of wet fur – like the time he’d forgotten to take Aunt Petunia’s fur coat out of the washer. He’d been locked in his cupboard for a week after that. Sight finally caught up and Harry’s eyes bugged out as he stared at a ginormous three-headed dog.

It was asleep as the door swung open, but in his shock, Harry let it slam against the wall with a loud clang. The beast was roused from its slumber, and he watched it stand up and look around. A part of him watched in awe as he employed his mage sight on his first magical creature. The three-headed dog glowed with magic in a way he’d never seen. Last night, in the mirror, his magic had primarily been focused on his extremities. But the dog was covered in magic from head to toe. Its matted hair shimmered with magic and the very air around it sparkled with energy.

Harry had been so preoccupied with his mage sight that he didn’t notice the three-headed dog begin sniffing. Then it turned and looked directly at him. He blinked, and his vision returned to normal. The three-headed dog snarled, and Harry reacted instinctively, grabbing the door and slamming it shut. He felt the giant beast slamming against the wood, but miraculously, it held. He scrambled to grab his wand and tapped the doorknob.

“Colloportus. COLLOPORTUS,” he nearly yelled. The door clicked and he twisted it tentatively. It didn’t budge. Harry brought his arm back under the cloak just in time for Filch to turn the corner.

“Students in the abandoned corridor?” Filch looked at his cat. “Perhaps we’ll see an expulsion today, my sweet. Assuming they haven’t been eaten.”

Harry slipped past the caretaker and his cat, who sniffed at the spot he’d been in but didn’t follow. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Harry entered an adjoining corridor, found an abandoned classroom, and pulled off his cloak. He stuffed it into the bottom of his bag before smoothing out his robes. He went downstairs to the ground floor, thinking about the dog he’d just escaped.

Harry was confident anyone would have a difficult time sneaking past the giant, slobbering beast. But Voldemort was supposed to be one of the most feared dark wizards of the age, would he be able to get around the three-headed dog? The unicorns already told Harry that Voldemort wasn’t afraid of killing beasts that were in his way. Harry hoped it would be enough.

Still, his thoughts drifted to the only magical signature he’d noticed other than the three-headed dog. Harry saw a plain wooden trapdoor underneath the dog. It had some kind of spell on it, so its blue and orange magic stood out to him. The same signature that was on the doorknob.

Harry arrived at the doors to the Great Hall. He planned to go inside, grab an apple, and retreat before the rest of the school woke up. He didn’t run into many people on the stairs or the corridors, so he assumed it was still early.

He pushed open the giant door and entered the hall. He blanched. He must’ve spent more time in the forbidden corridor than he thought. The Great Hall was packed. The team sat together, and Alicia looked up and saw him walk in. Her eyes narrowed as she beckoned him over. Harry gulped and complied.

He hid his shaking hands in his pockets as he approached his teammates. Alicia was glaring at him. Angelina looked between him and her best friend with an amused look – it was good to know at least one thing hadn’t changed. The twins waved, and Harry waved back. He’d run into them between classes one day, and they’d treated him the same as usual, so Harry assumed they weren’t mad at him. Oliver waved and patted an empty spot between him and Katie, who still hadn’t looked up at him. Harry didn’t think much of it – extricating Katie from her plate was difficult even on the best days.

Harry claimed the seat, realising too late that he was sat opposite a glaring Alicia.

“Hi,” Harry said.

“Hi?” Alicia hissed and Harry blanched. “You avoid us for a whole week, and that’s all you have to say for yourself? Hi?”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. “I thought you’d be mad at me for losing all those points.”

“Oh, we are,” Alicia said, and Harry flinched. “But I’m angrier that you decided to avoid us. I thought we were friends, Harry.”

“We are!” Harry insisted.

“Friends don’t ignore each other,” Alicia retorted. George coughed and she glared at him. Harry spared the redhead a glance before turning back to Alicia.

“I’m sorry, I was just scared you’d ignore me,” Harry mumbled.

“So, you ignored us instead?” Angelina asked dubiously. “You didn’t think that through, did you?”

Harry shrugged.

“What did you do?” Katie asked, and Harry was startled to hear how cool her tone was. “To lose us all those points, that is.”

“I got caught coming back from the Astronomy Tower after curfew,” Harry said quietly.

“Why were you at the Astronomy Tower?” Alicia asked.

“I-I can’t say,” Harry wouldn’t rat out Hagrid.

Katie huffed and stood up abruptly, her food forgotten, and stormed out of the Great Hall. Harry looked back to see everyone frowning at him.

“I wish I could say, but if I do, Hagrid could get in trouble,” he pleaded.

Alicia sighed and shook her head. “Did you have a good reason, Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry said firmly.

“Good enough for me,” Alicia sighed, and Angelina looked at her best friend with a raised eyebrow. The two girls seemed to have a silent conversation before Angelina shrugged.

“Well, help us earn those points back with the Quidditch cup, and we’ll call it even,” Oliver gave Harry a pat on the back. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Harry said, feeling a bit better, though his heart felt heavy at the thought of Katie.

Oliver watched the glaring contest between Alicia and Katie with apprehension. The latter hadn’t talked to Harry in three days and the former was livid.

“A hundred and fifty points, Alicia!” Katie yelled with her fists clenched in her lap. “All thrown away because he just couldn't stay in bed. We were so close to beating Slytherin, and now it's all gone! You know how hard I had to work in Potions and Transfiguration to get us some of those points? I got us points from Snape, Alicia!”

“Who cares about the House Cup, Katie?” Alicia snapped. Her bandanna lay crushed and crumpled in her hands. “He’s our friend. You don’t just abandon friends like that.”

“I’m not abandoning him, Alicia,” Katie snapped right back. “I just don’t feel like talking to him right now.”

“Tell that to Harry,” Alicia growled, and Oliver prepared to intervene if the situation escalated further. “You remember how he was when we first met him. You know how insecure he can be. He thinks you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him. He’s still my friend.”

Alicia let out a harsh laugh. “Well, then you’re doing a pretty cock-up job of being his friend right now.”

Katie opened her mouth to retort before shutting it with a snap. The two girls sat in silence until the portrait hole opened. Harry entered, to snide remarks and glares from the occupants of the common room. Katie glared at Alicia before getting up and brushing past Harry, right through the common room.

Oliver noticed Harry looking wistfully at the empty seat next to Alicia before turning toward an empty chair in the corner.

“Harry!” Oliver called out, and the first-year boy turned around with the look of someone expecting to be yelled at. He saw Harry flinch at the fuming Alicia, who was glaring holes into the back of Katie’s head. Oliver gestured for him to sit with them.

Hesitantly, Harry sat down.

“‘Licia, you okay?” He asked tentatively. Oliver watched his gaze follow Alicia’s. Harry shrunk when he realised who she was glaring at. “Is Katie still cross with me?”

Alicia turned around and nodded sadly. She put an arm around Harry and squeezed him.

“She’ll come around,” Oliver patted his seeker on the shoulder.

“Are you two still fighting?” Harry looked at Alicia, who nodded again. Some of the anger had returned to her expression when she looked at the guilt in Harry’s eyes.

“If you want,” Harry swallowed and turned sorrowful. “I can resign from the team – if that would make Katie happy. I just don’t want you two to fight.” He looked at Alicia, who looked enraged.

“Absolutely not,” Alicia snapped, and Harry flinched slightly. Oliver nodded resolutely when Harry turned to him. “You won’t be quitting just because she’s got her head up her arse.”

“Katie’s problem is her own,” Oliver agreed. “She would never ask me to boot you from the team, and even if she did, I would never listen. You’re just as much a part of this team as she is, Potter.”

Harry smiled gratefully, and Oliver returned it.

The next day, Oliver and the team assembled at the lockers for Quidditch practice. The atmosphere was tense. The bench closest to the entrance, unofficially claimed by Harry and Katie, was empty. Harry stood awkwardly by his locker while Katie stewed silently on Oliver’s bench. Alicia stared at her feet while Angelina looked at the whole situation with exasperation.

Oliver met Angelina’s gaze from across the room, and she gave him a look saying, “Can you believe this shite?” Oliver’s lips quirked and he shook his head as Angelina mimed hanging herself.

“All right, team. Gear up. Let’s get out there,” Oliver clapped his hands. He watched the last-minute gear scramble with fond exasperation. Harry and the chasers were fishing in their lockers for their goggles. Oliver was just beginning to think his team might have the professionalism to get through the practice when Alicia turned to Katie.

“I see you won’t even talk to Harry, but you’ll still use his goggles,” Alicia sneered. Oliver blanched and made to intervene. Angelina shook her head and grabbed Alicia by the shoulder. Oliver saw Alicia wince as Angelina muttered something.

Katie, who’d been wiping her goggles on the sleeve of her robes, froze at the older girl’s words.

“Alicia don’t –” Harry began but faltered when both witches turned their heated gaze on him.

“Fine,” Katie tossed the goggles back into the locker roughly. Harry looked as if he’d been slapped. Neither girl looked at anyone else before stalking out of the locker room.

That day’s practice was somehow even worse than the one before their match against Hufflepuff. Alicia and Katie would barely even look at each other. They still passed to each other and didn’t show any of their anger on the pitch – Oliver supposed he should be grateful for small mercies – but their communication was so bad that half the passes turned into airballs that Angelina had to recover. Speaking of Angelina, the lead chaser struggled to bring her fellows together to even a shadow of their former selves. Harry seemed hesitant to even fly near Katie, to the point that he wouldn’t even try to run interference against her when she had the quaffle. He also just seemed generally distracted.

After practice, an angry Alicia walked back to the castle, and Angelina shot Oliver an apologetic look as she followed her best friend. He hadn’t even seen Katie leave. Harry approached him as he thanked Fred and George for good effort – the only two team members he could say that to and not be lying through his teeth.

“Oliver,” Harry hesitated.

“Harry.”

“This is all my fault. I never meant to cause problems between Alicia and Katie. Please let me quit, I can’t watch them be like this,” Harry pleaded.

Oliver sat down and beckoned Harry to join him.

“Harry, listen to me. You are a member of this team, just as much as Katie and Alicia are,” he said patiently. “This is not the first time Alicia and Katie have argued,” he neglected to mention that their fights had never lasted this long. “And this won’t be the last. They’ll be fine.”

“I saw how they played together today,” Harry argued. “They barely spoke. I’ve never seen them like this. If I can fix things, Oliver, I’ve got to try to help. After all you’ve done for me, I want to see Gryffindor win the cup. We can’t do that without our chasers. If Katie doesn’t want to play with me anymore, I can handle it.”

“We’ll win the Cup, Harry. They’ll figure things out and we’ll be back to normal,” Oliver said, hoping he sounded surer than he felt. “Just be patient, okay? And, for the record, Katie doesn’t want you off the team. I don’t think she’s still even that mad about the points. She’s just hurt because she thinks you don’t trust her enough to tell her what happened in the Astronomy Tower.”

Harry looked on the verge of a retort but stopped himself. He looked thoughtful as Oliver shooed him off with a reassuring pat on the shoulder. The captain looked at the retreating form of his seeker, convincing himself to believe the words he’d just told the younger boy.

Four days later, Oliver felt a sense of déjà vu as he watched Katie and Alicia yell at each other. He glanced at Angelina, who was watching the exchange tiredly. Oliver knew if this argument was about anything else, she probably would’ve found it hilarious, but no one was taking the brunt of their feud more than Angelina. The three chasers were once thick as thieves, and now Katie and Alicia didn’t speak to each other, leaving Angelina caught in the crossfire.

Katie was still giving Harry the cold shoulder. In return, Alicia hadn’t spoken to her either. Even during practice, Alicia and Katie would only speak in short, clipped sentences. It was really mucking up the teamwork that the Gryffindor chasers were known for.

“He cares about you, Katie,” Alicia said. “That’s why he’s so hurt. Have you seen him lately? He’s been beating himself up every waking minute.”

“If he cared, then he would’ve told us before wandering the castle at night for no reason,” Katie said coolly.

“He said he had a good reason.”

“Can’t be that good if he won’t tell us. Clearly, he doesn’t care enough to tell us the truth.”

“Doesn’t care? He offered to quit the team!” Alicia spat. Her face was nearly purple with apoplectic rage. Angelina gasped and Katie looked shocked. “Last week, he said he’d quit the team if it made you feel better.”

“But Harry loves Quidditch,” Katie whispered. Oliver realised this was the first time she’d said his name in a week.

“And he was still willing to resign because he thought that if he left, you and I would stop fighting,” Alicia glared at the younger girl, whose anger was starting to fade into shock. “That’s how much he cares about us, and you want to question that?”

“I didn’t know…”

“Because you never spoke to him,” Alicia said reproachfully. “If you’d spoken to him but once, instead of listening to the whining gits who don’t even know him,” She gestured around the common room. “You’d know how bad he felt about all of this.”

“He offered to quit again a few days ago, after practice. Damn near begged me to kick him if it meant you’d stop fighting,” Oliver interjected. “Just speak to him, Katie. He’s trying to make amends, so just give him the chance. I don’t want this to turn into something you’ll regret.”

Katie remained silent as she stood and walked up to her dorm. While Alicia couldn’t see her retreating face, Oliver glimpsed at her expression. He was happy that she seemed more contemplative than angry.

He really hoped they’d gotten through to her.

“Harry, can I speak with you?” Katie asked stiffly the next day at practice. Harry nodded meekly and followed her outside the locker room. Alicia and Oliver looked at each other with a shared sliver of hope.

A few minutes later, Harry and Katie walked back inside. Harry looked happier than Oliver had seen him all week. Katie walked to her locker and pulled out her goggles before slipping them around her neck.

Alicia and Oliver shared a grin. While Harry and Katie still seemed tense and timid around each other, they seemed to have buried the hatchet. The following practice was the best in a while, and Oliver was confident that the team would quickly go back to the way they’d been before, both on and off the pitch.

As March rolled into April then May faded into June, students were painfully reminded of their upcoming exams. Oliver, being a fifth year, was preparing to take his OWLs.

Oliver’s dream since he was a toddler was to play Quidditch. He knew it was his calling, and he knew that he was good enough to get scouted for a reserve position at the least. However, as his mum (and Katie) would often remind him, he needed a second choice. So, as the term came to a close, he hunkered down and got studying.

Oliver sat in the common room with his friends-slash-teammates. Their exams were set to begin in two days and Oliver had been forced to cancel Quidditch practice to study. Alicia, Angelina, and even the twins were leaning over a set of Ancient Runes notes (though the latter had to be forced into joining). Katie was writing a transfiguration essay and would occasionally turn to Oliver or Alicia to ask a question. Harry was memorising the twelve uses of dragon’s blood with Ron and Hermione.

The trio seemed inseparable these days. Oliver’s lips twitched as he watched Hermione mouth each use as Harry recited them to her, not realising she was giving away the answer. Ron was doodling on a piece of parchment.

What combination of ingredients can be used to cure werewolf bites? Oliver read the question off the parchment. If he remembered correctly, a mixture of dittany and silver would cure the bite, but not the lycanthropy. He tapped his wand to the question and watched as the answer appeared. He grinned when his answer matched the key.

Once again, he thanked Penny in his head. She’d sought him and Percy out after charms last week and gave them both a copy of the practice test. She explained that she’d gotten some Ravenclaws to help her charm a parchment to cycle through different questions that would give the answers when tapped. The muggleborn witch had called them magical flashcards, and she’d given him and Percy five each – one for each core class.

“You know,” said Fred, looking at Angelina and Alicia. “I think this is the longest I’ve ever seen Oliver go without bringing up Quidditch.”

“And you just ruined that streak, piss-for-brains,” Angelina rolled her eyes. Oliver snorted before turning his attention back to the flash card.

A few hours later, Oliver was snapped out of his notes by a loud grumbling. Laughter spanned the group as Ron’s ears burned red.

“Can’t lie, I’m starving too,” Oliver said. It was true. Now that he snapped out of his flow state, he felt famished. “Anyone coming with?”

Alicia, Katie, Hermione, and surprisingly, the twins, stayed behind. The rest strolled down to the Great Hall. Oliver winced as they passed the large hourglass showing Gryffindor’s points.

Harry’s gaze followed Oliver’s, and the younger boy frowned. Oliver patted Harry on the shoulder in consolation. At least now everyone had made up again, for the most part.

A few days after Katie started speaking to Harry again, Alicia dragged him to a seat and made him spill the beans. Harry told them the story of Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback and how Harry and Hermione had gone to hand him off to Charlie’s friends. He recounted how they’d gotten caught on their way back down. Katie didn’t look surprised, leading Oliver to the conclusion she knew the story already. That only made him more certain that the team would be back to normal.

They’d need it for their game against Ravenclaw in three weeks.

Before that, they would need to conquer their exams. Before that, Oliver was going to conquer a big slice of shepherd’s pie. But before even that, Oliver really needed to conquer his bladder.

Before they entered the Great Hall, Oliver excused himself to use the bathroom. He separated from the group and walked towards the first-floor boys’ loo.

He heard a loud screech from within the bathroom, and recognising Peeves’ handiwork, decided to take the nearest staircase away from the poltergeist. He took the steps down into the dungeons and sought out the nearest bathroom.

A minute later, he walked out of the bathroom, whistling as he strolled to the staircase where he heard a stray giggle. The sound was familiar, and a curious Oliver approached the source.

He saw a blonde walking with a tall boy with bright red hair. Oliver thought it was a little early for prefects to do their rounds but assumed that was what Penelope Clearwater and Percy Weasley were up to. He thought they were standing a little too closely but didn’t think too much of it.

Oliver was about to turn around and head back to the Great Hall when they kissed, and Penelope let out the same giggle he’d heard earlier.

Ah.

Angelina Johnson was starting to get worried. Oliver said he was going to the bathroom. That had been twenty minutes ago. She watched the door restlessly as she ate.

Angelina watched that one Ravenclaw prefect Oliver fancied walk into the hall. She noticed with a smirk that the girl in blue-trimmed robes looked rather flushed. She wondered if she’d run into Oliver and the two had snogged it out.

Immediately after, Percy, the twins’ older brother walked in and gave what he probably thought was a subtle glance at Penelope. Angelina had spent most of her life training to read people – usually in the context of Quidditch – but it had made her more perceptive than most. She knew a look of longing when she saw it. She thought perhaps Oliver had competition in the form of his roommate.

Then Penelope had returned his gaze, and her eyes lit up. Angelina felt sympathy swell within her. She wondered the best way to tell Oliver that the girl he fancied was taken by his roommate of all people.

Then she connected the missing Oliver to the lovey-dovey couple and her heart sank.

Angelina waited another twenty minutes before concluding that Oliver wasn’t coming back. She excused herself and left the Great Hall.

If I was Oliver Wood, where would I go?

Immediately, Angelina walked to a window and looked outside at the Quidditch pitch. Indeed, it was lit up against the night sky. Angelina opened the doors to the castle and half-jogged across the grounds.

Nearing the pitch, she saw a lone figure darting amid the lights. Grabbing her broom from the lockers, she stepped out onto the grass. Oliver was a talented flyer. He darted back and forth in a zig-zag pattern before ending in a corkscrew. Being the keeper, Angelina never saw him pull off these fancy manoeuvres. Oliver’s flying on the pitch was precise, functional, and controlled. That night, Oliver wasn’t practising. No, this flying was his attempt at releasing pent-up emotion.

Angelina kicked off into the air and floated near him. He didn’t notice her trailing him.

“Fancy some company?” Angelina yelled over the rushing wind. Oliver pulled to an abrupt stop and turned around to look at her, surprise etched on his face.

“‘Lina? What’re you doing here?” Oliver looked lost. It was a far cry from the carefree, easygoing captain she’d come to know.

“Thought you could use some company,” Angelina shrugged. “I saw Clearwater and Weasley,” Oliver’s expression closed off and his face became a blank slate. Angelina knew her theory had been vindicated, but she didn’t feel better for it. “If you wanted to talk…”

Angelina wasn’t the best with feelings and emotions – Alicia and Katie outstripped her by a long shot – but she wanted to help. Oliver was her captain and friend. He’d taken her under his wing when she joined as a reserve last year. She owed him for that. It was through Quidditch she’d met most of her friends, including her best friend, Alicia.

Oliver shook his head. “Not really up for conversation. I could use a flying partner though.”

“You’re on,” Angelina grinned, and Oliver returned a weak smile. “Two laps around the stands while looping each post. Loser buys butterbeer next Hogsmeade visit.”

“You better have that butterbeer money saved up, Johnson,” Oliver retorted with a wide grin.

Meanwhile, Harry made the trek back up to Gryffindor Tower.

“I can’t lie, mate. There’s no way I’ll be able to remember all these different creatures,” bemoaned Ron, who walked by his side. “How am I supposed to remember what a Gytrash is? Or how to kill a zombie –”

“Fire,” Harry interjected.

“- and don’t even get me started on the spells. How am I supposed to remember the difference between the red and green sparks spells?”

“Vermillious for red, Verdimillious for green,” Harry answered absently. He found his memory had improved significantly over the past few months, courtesy of the occlumency training he was still undergoing with Flitwick. His mage sight was also coming along nicely. Sometimes, though it was inconsistent, he’d feel the magic in an object he was touching even when he wasn’t concentrating. Harry could feel the ability become more and more instinctual as the days went by. He couldn’t wait until he was ready for the next step.

The tome he’d found in the restricted section explained that Occlumency would help Harry accustom his mind to Sensomagy, which would help him process the magic, but that was only the first step. The rest, he knew, Flitwick couldn’t help him with. He would need to integrate his Sensomagy into each of his senses, allowing him to perceive magic through them, allowing his regular vision and mage sight to work simultaneously. He had long since decided to begin with touch, as that had come first naturally.

Before long, the two Gryffindors were back among their friends in the common room. Harry could only shrug when Katie asked about Angelina and Oliver. Harry and Hermione tried to explain to Ron the difference between flame-making and blue-bell flame charms.

“Honestly, Ronald, I don’t get what is there to be confused by,” Hermione chastised, turning Ron’s ears red. “The flame-making charm is cast with Incendio and creates a flame that can be as big or as small as you want depending on the amount of power you put into it. Whereas the blue-bell charm is cast with Ignis Frigus and trades power for more control since you can make a heatless flame or one that doesn’t burn things.”

Ron only looked more lost, and even Harry, who fully understood the two spells, felt confused by Hermione’s spiel. Fred snorted at Ron’s confusion and Alicia gave him an expression of sympathy.

“Maybe you should go talk to your teachers,” she suggested, and Ron looked appalled at even the thought. “They’re the ones making the exams, maybe they could be of some help.”

“This is Defense,” Ron pointed out. “Quirrell’s useless, remember?” Harry thought he had a point.

“Couldn’t hurt to ask,” Alicia shrugged. “No offence to Hermione, but you’re clearly having trouble following her explanations. Might as well ask the person who’s teaching you the material. Besides, Quirrell’s not that bad once you get past the stutter.”

“Getting past the stutter is the hard part,” Ron grumbled, and Alicia rolled her eyes.

“I’ll come with you, Ron. I’ve got some questions to ask him too,” Harry offered, and Ron gave him a look of betrayal.

“It’s almost curfew,” Ron tried. “Don’t fancy getting caught after hours like you two. Let’s go tomorrow.”

Harry made a rude gesture and Ron snickered.

“It’s only eight, I’m sure we can go to Quirrell’s office and be back in an hour. Besides, I guarantee you’ll forget tomorrow,” Harry argued and watched with satisfaction as Ron nodded begrudgingly.

“All right, let’s go then.”

The two boys left the common room and down the main staircase to the Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor. They walked past the classroom and knocked on the door to Professor Quirrell’s office.

Harry heard some muffled voices before a strained “Come in!” prompted them to open the door.

“P-Potter, Weasley. W-What can I do f-for you?” Professor Quirrell sat at his desk. He looked a little dishevelled and out of breath, and his desk was a mess. Harry wondered whether they’d interrupted the Professor in the middle of something important.

“Is now a good time, Professor?” Harry asked awkwardly. “We can come back later.”

Ron nodded vehemently.

“No, no,” Professor Quirrell said, and Harry couldn’t tell if the man was being dramatic or stuttering again. “I always have t-time for my s-students.”

“Well then, Professor, Ron here had a question about the flame-making charm, and I was wondering about vampires.” Quirrell looked as though he’d faint at the mention of the undead creatures.

“W-well then. A-ask away.”

Harry found that Alicia had been correct. Once he got past the stutter, Quirrell was actually quite competent. Even the stutter was less pronounced, and Harry wondered if it was because he was teaching two students instead of an entire class. Harry’s scar, which normally burned in Defense, didn’t hurt now when Quirrell sat directly across from him.

The more they spoke to him, the more questions Harry found himself asking. By the end of their conversation, Harry found he had a much more solid grasp of the subject, and Ron too looked less confused.

“W-well, boys,” Quirrell clapped his hands together nervously. “I-It looks like we’re p-past curfew, so you m-must head back to your d-d-dorms.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice,” Harry said, looking up at the clock, which read five-past-nine. “Thanks for the help, Professor.”

“M-my pleasure,” Quirrell inclined his head, and his turban teetered slightly forward. “L-let me w-write you a n-note, in case you get c-caught by a p-p-prefect.”

“Thanks,” Ron said as the Professor handed him a slip of parchment. Harry inclined his head in gratitude.

The two boys left the office and made it back to Gryffindor Tower without running into any prefects or teachers. Soon after they returned to the common room, Harry and the others decided they’d studied enough for the day. The twins left while Harry and Ron were with Quirrell, and Katie had fallen asleep in her chair. Angelina, who returned with Oliver while Harry was out, picked up the sleeping Katie like a sack of potatoes and hauled her up the stairs to the girls' dorms.

Harry looked at Oliver, noticing the tired look in his eyes that hadn’t been there when they’d gone down to dinner. Harry wondered where he and Angelina had disappeared to.

Ron left saying he was going to crash for the night, and Hermione soon followed saying she was going to continue studying in her dorm. Alicia also left, leaving Harry, who’d switched from schoolwork to reading his Sensomagy book, and Oliver, who was still staring into the fireplace with a forlorn look.

“You all right, Oliver?” Harry asked, marking the page in his book before shutting it.

“All right, Harry. You?” Oliver looked at him with an easy grin that made Harry wonder if he’d imagined the sadness on the older boy’s face. Perhaps it was a trick of the firelight.

Harry shrugged.

“All this studying is kicking my butt, but my mum was a top student. I want to make her proud, you know?” Harry said, and Oliver gave him a proud smile. He wondered if his mum was somewhere giving him a similar look. “Where’d you and Angelina go off to at dinner earlier?”

Oliver’s smile faltered for a split second. “Nowhere, really. Ran into some friends and lost track of time. ‘Lina came to find me. We came back to the Hall, but you and Ron left already.”

Harry nodded. He felt like Oliver was omitting something but decided it wasn’t any of his business.

“I think I’ll turn in for the night,” Oliver yawned and stretched. “You should too, Harry, we’ve got classes tomorrow.”

Harry grunted his assent and turned back to his book. Oliver snorted before entering his dorm. After a few minutes of reading the same line three times, Harry decided he was too tired to continue. He packed up his belongings, wiping away any spilt ink and crumpling up any loose parchment. He reached for a small scrap of parchment and looked it over, intending to ball it up and trash it. It was the note that Quirrell had given him and Ron. It had a little scrawled signature and an annotation saying that the students were returning from a professor’s office.

His finger brushed the ink, and he gasped as a cold tingle ran up his arm. As his finger pressed further into the signature, the ink seemed to emanate wisps of smoke. The black wisps of smoke were wrapped in strands of silver that snaked across the page and reached out to his fingers. A sharp sensation coursed through Harry, culminating in a burning pain in his scar.

He cried out and dropped the note. His blood ran cold as realisation struck.

It was Quirrell.

Quirrell had cursed his broom.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter sat at his desk, glaring at an innocuous scrap of parchment. He didn’t dare touch it again for the echoes of the stabbing pain in his scar were still fresh. ‘Quirinus Quirrell,’ the note read. It was only a signature, but Harry was certain that the magical residue he’d sensed matched the trace he’d found on his broom. He’d also seen the same magic on the cloaked figure killing the unicorns. The figure that he and Firenze thought was Voldemort.

Quirrell might be working for Voldemort.

Harry couldn’t sleep that night. Perhaps he was mistaken? No, the magic he’d felt was identical, down to the way the silver tendrils tried to reach out to him. When he touched the broom in Professor Flitwick’s office, he felt fear like no other. The black smoke was the only magical residue he’d felt that grasped at him and tried to suck him in.

Harry sat up in bed and pushed the curtains away. He glanced at his desk. The note was still where he’d left it, wrapped in scrap parchment. He checked Neville’s alarm. It was four in the morning, so he’d need to wait till five for curfew to lift so he could find Flitwick. If he couldn’t find the Professor in the morning, he’d have to wait till classes were done for the day. Hermione would finish the job for Quirrell if Harry missed exam review, even if it were a matter of life and death. Mealtimes were also off the table since Quirrell would also be present.

Last night, he considered sneaking out and finding Professor Flitwick but ultimately decided against it. He didn’t want to jeopardise what tentative friendship he’d managed to salvage with Katie.

No, if Harry couldn’t find Flitwick before breakfast, he would have to wait till after classes. He stole another look at the seemingly innocent note and dropped it into his bag with a sigh. He couldn’t afford to leave it lying around.

He was showered and dressed by four-thirty and killed time trying futilely to outline a potions essay till five. He walked down to the common room with his fingers clenched around his rucksack.

“Harry? Where are you headed this early?” Harry turned around and saw Oliver come down the stairs dressed in sportswear.

“Uh –” Harry didn’t want to tell anyone about Quirrell, because he knew they would dismiss his claims. Unless he told them about his mage sight, and that wasn’t something Harry was ready to do just yet. “I was going to grab an early breakfast. Was hungry.” He finished lamely.

“Great Hall doesn’t serve breakfast till six,” Oliver pointed out, and Harry cursed internally. “Come with me, I’ll take you down to the kitchens. We can get you something there.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Harry tried. “You seemed like you were on the way to something.”

“Oh, I was just going to take my morning jog, but I’ll do that another time,” Oliver waved off his protests and walked to the portrait hole. “Come on then, you’ll love the kitchens.”

Harry couldn’t find an excuse, so he followed Oliver down the moving staircases to the ground floor. The older boy brought him to a portrait of a bowl of fruit.

“Try tickling the pear,” Oliver nodded, and Harry looked at him bewildered. “Trust me, Harry; you’ll see what I mean.”

Harry reached out and rubbed his finger against the canvas where the pear was. The fruit twitched and let out a giggle before turning into a doorknob. He tentatively twisted and the portrait swung open.

Beyond the portrait was a cavernous room. Four long tables spanned its length. Along the walls were kitchen appliances of varying degrees of antiquity. Tiny creatures – house elves – ran around from appliance to appliance, presumably preparing breakfast for the castle’s occupants. One such creature approached Oliver and Harry.

“You’re Floppy, right?” Harry asked the creature, that looked at him with amazement. “You were the house elf Professor Flitwick asked to retrieve my broom.”

“Mr. Harry Potter sir remembers Floppy? Harry Potter must be even greater than the stories say if he remembers a lowly house elf.” The elf looked at him reverently. The other elves turned around at the commotion and looked at Harry curiously, and he squirmed under their gaze.

“Uh, thanks?” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Oliver laughed.

“We were wondering if we could get some early breakfast,” Oliver asked the elf politely, and the creature nodded enthusiastically. Its large, bat-like ears flopped so hard Harry thought he felt a breeze form. “How do you feel about pancakes, Harry?”

Harry nodded, still looking at the elves. He’d never had pancakes before, though he knew Dudley loved them. He was curious what they tasted like.

Oliver asked the elves for two plates of pancakes. “Nice and fluffy, the way the Yanks do it,” he specified.

Harry and Oliver sat at one of the tables and talked as the elves worked. He asked Oliver about his OWL prep and got a response in the form of a grimace and a headshake. Oliver asked about his classes, and he told the older boy about his improving skills with Transfiguration.

Two heaping plates of pancakes appeared in front of them with a dish of syrup between them. Harry stared in awe at the golden-brown cakes, unsure how to eat them (he didn’t think Dudley was a good template for table manners) and watched Oliver tear into his food.

Mimicking his captain, Harry poured the syrup over the pancakes, before cutting off a small slab of butter and dropping it on top. He cut off a small piece and took a tentative bite, and his eyes widened as his mouth flooded with the sticky sweet taste of the syrup and the fluffiness of the hotcakes.

“Is this your first time trying pancakes?” Oliver asked with surprise marring his features.

“Yeah, Aunt Petunia never let me have any before,” Harry said, still focused on the food. He didn’t see Oliver’s surprised look.

The two boys silently cleared their plates and thanked the elves before returning to the tower. Oliver excused himself to change into his uniform, leaving Harry alone in the common room.

Harry’s good mood left with Oliver. The older boy had distracted him from his original task, but now that he was gone the fluffy hotcakes felt like cockroach clusters in his stomach.

Harry leaned back in the armchair and closed his eyes, opting for some occlumency practice before classes. He concentrated on the feeling of flight, letting the imaginary wind overwhelm his senses and drown out his thoughts.

Like flipping a switch, Harry found himself in the Nothing. Except it wasn’t quite as empty anymore. Floating within were balls of light that contained his memories. Now that he’d grasped clearing his mind, Flitwick was teaching him to organise it. The memories floated haphazardly, but Harry grasped each one, watching the colours change as he relived the moment they contained. He connected the memories to each other, and spiderwebs of multi-coloured light formed within his mind. It was a complex arrangement, and sometimes, even Harry was confused. But he knew that when he completely sorted through all his memories, he’d be able to access them with ease, and it would be worth it.

A memory floated in front of him, and he grasped at it. The Nothing was replaced by the library. It was from February, before the business with the Astronomy Tower. He watched himself laugh as Katie and Alicia argued over what breed of cat Professor McGonagall was.

The memory assigned itself under ‘carefree’, ‘friends’, ‘Katie’, ‘Alicia’, ‘library’, and as an afterthought, ‘studying’. The process of assigning the memory was entirely subconscious. Each memory was assigned the most essential descriptors that Harry subconsciously associated with it.

The ball of light changed colour from white to a light shade of purple. It floated into place in the complex arrangement, and strands of light from memories all over the constellation connected to it.

Harry grabbed another ball, and he was transported to the locker room at the Quidditch pitch.

“Harry, can I speak with you?” Katie asked in the memory. Harry nodded meekly and followed her outside the locker room. She stood outside with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.

“Hi,” Harry mumbled.

“Hello,” Katie said. Hesitation seeped into her voice.

The two Gryffindors stood in awkward silence.

“How have you been,” Harry tried. Katie scowled.

“How do you think?” She snapped. Harry flinched and her gaze softened. She suddenly looked guilty. “I’m sorry. Alicia – she told me you offered to quit the Quidditch team.”

Harry nodded. “If you want me to, I’ll resign. I just don’t want you two to fight because of me.”

He rambled until Katie held up a hand, and his jaw shut with a snap.

“Why would I want you to resign, Harry? Do you really think I’d stoop so low?” Katie looked hurt.

“No, I just thought you hated me, and leaving would make you happier,” Harry looked down at his feet.

“I don’t hate you, and leaving wouldn’t make me happy. Why would you even think that?” Katie sounded hurt.

“Because you refused to talk to me. Hell, you wouldn’t even look at me,” Harry’s confusion was turning to frustration now. Katie flinched and Harry’s ire evaporated, replaced by guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he said. She looked at him, confused. He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. “I shouldn’t have lost those points. It’s just –”

Harry stopped himself, and it was Katie’s turn to look frustrated.

“It’s just what, Harry?” Katie asked angrily. “You keep dancing around it. Why’d you sneak out? Everyone keeps saying terrible things and that I should avoid you, but I don’t know what to think.”

“So, that’s why you avoided me for a week?” Harry glared. “Because ‘everyone else did’?”

Katie flinched, and Harry knew he’d struck home. It hurt that she was willing to believe relative strangers instead of sticking with him like Alicia, Oliver, and the rest of the team. It felt like he was back in Little Whinging, watching the kids who’d been friendly with him ignore him because of Dudley.

Then again, maybe it was his fault for thinking things would be different at Hogwarts. People always left him, and as always, he had no one to blame but himself.

His expression deflated and he retreated into himself.

“Only because you won’t tell me what really happened!” Katie balled up her fists and he took a step back. As quickly as her anger rose, it deflated. “I want to believe you, Harry. I really do. But you’re not giving me anything to believe in.”

“Certainly helped that you wouldn’t even look at me,” Harry said bitterly, and Katie winced. “I can’t say, Katie. I just don’t want to get Hagrid in trouble.”

“I won’t tell anyone. I just want you to help me understand. No more secrets, Harry, please,” she begged, and Harry couldn’t resist the pleading look in her eye.

“Fine, no more secrets,” Harry swallowed the acerbic remarks. He had to come clean – for the team if nothing else. He didn’t want to see Alicia and Katie fight anymore.

He told her all about Norbert. About how they’d found Hagrid in the library, and how they’d caught Malfoy watching them. He told her about Ron’s bite and the letter Malfoy nicked. Then he told her about the journey to the astronomy tower and how they’d gotten caught on the way back down.

To her credit, Katie was a good listener. She ooh-ed and aah-ed at the right times even though she’d looked at him dubiously when he first mentioned the dragon. At the end of the story, she just stared at him, halfway between awe and exasperation.

“So, you did have a good reason,” Katie deadpanned. “Why didn’t you just say this to begin with?”

“Ron said Hagrid would get sacked if the teachers found out,” Harry shrugged. “I didn’t want anything to happen to him.”

“Harry, none of us would’ve told a teacher,” she said.

“I didn’t want to take the chance.”

“So, you just let us be mad at you. You just let me ignore you for an entire week on the off chance someone found out about Hagrid,” Katie rubbed her temples. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re the noble prat who ran off after a troll to save a girl you’d just met.”

Harry shrugged dully. Katie frowned at his reaction, or lack thereof.

 “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you for an entire week,” Katie smiled awkwardly.

“It’s alright,” Harry said neutrally. “I’m glad you don’t want me off the team.”

“I never wanted you off the team, you overdramatic prat,” Katie said with forced cheer. Harry saw the contrived attempt at normalcy. He tried to laugh, but it came out forced, empty.

The pair re-entered the locker room, and Harry watched Katie go to her locker. Harry felt a burst of relief as she slipped the goggles around her neck. Maybe the team would be fine after all.

The memory was assigned to ‘relief’, ‘Katie’, ‘secret’, and ‘regret’.

The next ball of light that passed through him was the memory of the previous night. He watched Quirrell stutter through his explanation. Harry assigned the memory to the labels for ‘fear’, ‘evil’, ‘confusion’, and ‘studying’.

He was parsing through a memory of the most recent Quidditch practice when the memory-Alicia spoke to him. Except she sounded like Hermione.

“Harry?” she asked, her broom slung over her shoulder. “Harry, we’re going to be late for class. Harry, wake up!”

Harry was confused. That was not how he remembered the memory going. The confusion ripped Harry out of the Nothing.

He felt overstimulated, as was usual after an extended foray into the Nothing. The loud chatter of students in the common room rang through his ears, giving him a headache. Thankfully, a bushy brown mane curtained him off from the assault of the blinding lights.

“I’m awake! I’m awake!” Harry yelled and Hermione stopped shaking him. She stood back and gave him a look of disapproval. “Sorry, I dozed off.”

Harry stood up and stretched. The advantage of retreating into his mind was that his body was technically sleeping. It allowed his body to rest while his mind worked. Though Flitwick warned that it wasn’t a substitute for real sleep – the mind needed rest too.

Harry and Hermione went down to the Great Hall to find Ron, before heading to the first class of the day, Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall spent the class explaining the topics for their final exam in two weeks. She then gave them two practice sheets and an essay due on exam day. Harry was quite happy for more practice in what McGonagall once told him was his father’s best subject. He wanted to do well in Transfiguration and Charms, hoping to live up to his parents’ legacy.

The next class that Harry attended was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Just like McGonagall, Quirrell also lectured the class on what to expect for the exam and gave them more review work. Harry didn’t really pay attention. He spent the entire time studying Quirrell’s behaviour, trying to find some kind of cue that would give him away as the broom-jinxer. Quirrell noticed Harry glaring and gave him an odd look before turning away.

At the bell, the class shuffled to the exit. Harry made to join them when Quirrell called to him from his desk.

“Mr. Potter, please stay behind for a moment.”

Harry’s heart stopped.

He turned around and walked mechanically to the front of the class. “Yes, professor?”

His voice was weaker than he’d hoped. His heart thudded erratically in his chest.

“Is everything…” Quirrell paused, giving him that odd look. Like Harry was a puzzle he was one step away from solving. “Alright?”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry stammered. He felt a little lightheaded as a dull pressure mounted against his forehead. “W-Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Oh, no reason,” Quirrell spoke casually. “You were acting rather peculiar today, so I thought I should ask.”

“Oh, thanks for your concern, Professor.”

“If there is nothing, then off you go.”

Harry inclined his head before hurrying out of the classroom. He was already in the Great Hall for lunch when he realised Quirrell hadn’t stuttered once.

Harry passed through the rest of the day in a daze. His thoughts kept returning to Quirrell. He lost fifteen points for Gryffindor in potions, when Snape stopped him from adding an extra pinch of powdered unicorn horn into his Strengthening Solution.

Thankfully, his last class of the day was charms. After class, he shooed off Ron and Hermione while waiting for the room to empty.

“Mr. Potter, are you alright?” Flitwick asked as Harry approached his desk. “You look rather pale. No further incidents with your broom, I hope?”

“No, sir. Nothing with my broom,” Harry fished in his bag and pulled out the ball of scrap parchment. He gingerly placed it on the professor’s desk, and Flitwick looked bemused. “I found him, Professor. The person who jinxed my broom.”

Flitwick looked interested and leaned forward. He looked at the ball of parchment and used a quill to unfurl it, revealing the note inside. “This is a note from Professor Quirrell,” he looked alarmed. “Surely you don’t believe a professor tried to harm you?”

Harry could only shrug. He explained last night’s events, and how he’d felt Quirrell’s magic on the signature. Flitwick waved his wand over the note, and nothing happened.

“There are no charms on the parchment, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick looked at Harry sceptically. “Are you certain you felt Professor Quirrell’s magic from this note?”

“I’m certain, Professor,” Harry nodded stubbornly. “Percy Weasley told me on Christmas that signatures have traces of the signer’s magic, and that’s how Gringotts verifies cheques. That wouldn’t show up as a charm, would it? But I can sense the magic on the note because I’ve got mage sight.”

Flitwick nodded and mumbled to himself. “You are correct, Mr. Potter, a signature wouldn’t trigger the detection spell. You may be right.”

“What do we do now, Professor?”

“I do not believe my colleague would harm you, Mr. Potter. I’m certain this is all a misunderstanding,” Flitwick said, and Harry felt outrage swell within him. He opened his mouth to argue, but the professor raised a hand and Harry fell silent. “Regardless, I will speak to Professor Quirrell immediately,” the tiny professor stood up and walked next to Harry. “I recommend you go back to your common room. Let me handle this, Harry.”

Harry nodded reluctantly. He left the Charms corridor and was halfway up the stairs when he realised he never told Flitwick about Quirrell’s involvement with Voldemort. Harry swore and turned back in the direction of the Charms corridor. Not seeing Flitwick anywhere, Harry ran up the stairs, taking two at a time, to the Defence corridor.

“May I come in, Quirinus?” Harry recognised Flitwick’s voice outside Quirrell’s office. In a moment of inspiration, Harry pulled his invisibility cloak out of his rucksack and threw it on. He slipped between Professors Quirrell and Flitwick and entered the office as the two men spoke at the door.

“O-of course, Filius,” Harry noticed with narrowed eyes that Quirrell was stuttering again. “W-what can I h-help you with?”

“A student told me a concerning story, and I wanted to get your opinion on it,” Flitwick smiled genially at the younger professor, who looked even more nervous than usual.

“Ah, w-was it the Potter boy?” Quirrell raised an eyebrow and wrung his hands together. “H-he was acting rather odd in my class t-today. Quite the t-troublemaker, that one. Sought out that t-t-troll on Halloween.”

“Mr. Potter thinks you jinxed his broom during his first match,” Flitwick laughed. Harry felt his throat dry up. Flitwick hadn’t believed him. He’d come to share a laugh with the man who’d tried to knock Harry off his broom.

“P-preposterous!” Quirrell cried, looking outraged. Flitwick looked at him quizzically. “I would never!”

“Of course, I told him that was outlandish. A Hogwarts professor, attack a student?” Flitwick laughed again. “Especially in the middle of a Quidditch match with multiple teachers present. Surely no professor would be stupid enough to think of such an ineffective plot.”

“Yes, yes,” Quirrell bristled. Flitwick’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I told him I’d speak to you. Clear up any misunderstandings,” Flitwick said casually. “As if someone would try to knock a first year off their broom. Probably lost control, he did.”

Flitwick nodded at Quirrell conspiratorially, and the younger professor laughed nervously.

“Yes, who would bother tampering with anti-collision charms to unseat a mere first year?” Quirrell laughed awkwardly.

Flitwick’s eyes narrowed. “I never mentioned anti-collision charms.”

Quirrell’s wand was in his hand in a blink. He pointed it at Flitwick, only to see the Charms professor’s wand pointing back. At the same time, a loud whine erupted from Harry’s bag, turning both professors in his direction.

Quirrell sliced his wand through the air. “Diffindo!”

Harry ducked under the red arc but tripped on his cloak. It fell off him as he tumbled to the ground. The spell hit the back of his bag, spilling its contents across the floor. His sneakoscope whirred and rattled, emitting a high-pitched whine.

“Potter!” Quirrell snarled. His attention turned back to Flitwick when the older man swore, and he snapped off a sickly yellow spell at the smaller professor.

Flitwick sidestepped and looked at Quirrell with narrowed eyes. Flitwick responded by sending the desk right into Quirrell, who turned his wand on it and flicked downward, causing the desk to explode. Quirrell then flicked his wand at Flitwick, sending the debris at him.

Harry watched the duel in amazement. Quirrell was not very fast on his feet, but he made up for it by conjuring objects to take the brunt of his spells. His offensive spells were brutally strong but slowly cast.

Flitwick was the opposite. The tiny professor used his small stature to his advantage, dodging and weaving between spells, returning fire by rapidly casting weaker hexes and jinxes.

Quirrell tried to overpower and crush his opponent, while Flitwick tried to batter him down.

Flitwick darted away, snapping off two bright blue bolts of electricity, that fizzled as they hit Quirrell’s transparent shield. The shield collapsed as Quirrell fired a dark red curse at Flitwick, who ducked under it, casting a red arc at Quirrell’s knees.

The two professors were caught in a deadlock. Neither gained an advantage, though both combatants had taken a couple of scrapes.

Suddenly, Quirrell turned to Harry and growled, “Avada Kedavra!”

At the same time, Flitwick yelled, "Avis!”

There was a bright green flash as a spell of the same colour careened toward Harry, and his only thought was that it looked strangely familiar. The spell never connected as a flock of birds swarmed before him. They took the brunt of the curse and Harry watched with morbid fascination as they exploded and showered him with feathers and bird guts.

Quirrell turned back to Flitwick as soon as his curse was cast. The tiny professor was momentarily distracted as he conjured the birds to save Harry. The moment was enough for Quirrell to send Flitwick flying into a cabinet with the flick of a wand.

“Stupefy,” Quirrell muttered, and Harry watched in horror as his charms professor slumped over with closed eyes. “What to do with you?” Quirrell mused, kicking Flitwick in the ribs with a look of cruel joy on his face.

“Leave him alone, you monster!” Harry yelled, shakily holding his wand in front of him.

“Ah, how rude of me to forget our uninvited guest, the Boy-Who-Lived,” Quirrell sneered. “This complicates things. No matter, I will simply accelerate the plans.”

“What plans?” Harry asked, sounding braver than he felt. Quirrell only glared at him.

“Plans far beyond anything your feeble mind could comprehend.”

“Stop wasting time, Quirrell,” spoke a high, cold voice that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. “Finish your task. Get the stone.”

The voice came from Quirrell, but his lips hadn’t moved. Harry felt he’d gotten involved in something far beyond a simple broom-jinxing.

“Stupefy,” Quirrell flicked his wand lazily, and a red bolt flew towards Harry, whose Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he dove out of the way.

Quirrell snarled and cast two more spells in quick succession. Harry ducked behind Quirrell’s desk, feeling the sizzling heat as the spell flew over his head.

“Confringo,” said Quirrell, and the desk exploded. Harry screamed as splinters peppered his back. He barely rolled away from another red spell.

He tried to stand up but fell back as his leg refused to support his weight. He let out a whimper as his twisted ankle throbbed.

Harry winced as Quirrell stomped on the sneakoscope as he walked past it, stemming the whining. He was filled with fury as he looked at the blue and yellow shards that had once been Alicia’s present to him. Quirrell walked past him and picked up the invisibility cloak.

“Don’t. Touch. That.” Harry growled, propping himself up on his good leg.

“Or what, boy?” Quirrell laughed cruelly. He draped the cloak over himself, watching his body disappear. “An invisibility cloak. How useful. Thank you, Potter.”

“Stop wasting time, Quirrell,” the cold voice spoke again. “Take the boy and get the stone before the old fool finds us.”

“Yes, master,” Quirrell muttered before turning his wand on him. Harry saw a flash of red and the world turned black.

Harry Potter felt like he’d just been hit in the head by a bludger. Repeatedly. He blinked the spots out of his vision as he took in his surroundings. He was in a small room fully covered in paved stone. In the centre of the room was a golden, ornate mirror. Pacing before the mirror was Quirrell.

Harry felt a mutinous fury swell within him as he saw the invisibility cloak at the professor’s feet. He tried to move only to find himself bound by thick ropes.

“I see the stone. I’m handing it to my master. I see the riches and eternal life, but where is it?” Quirrell sounded frustrated and Harry was satisfied that the professor hadn’t found whatever he was looking for.

“Use the boy,” said the high, cold voice. “He is the key.”

Quirrell turned around abruptly. He flicked his wand and the ropes binding Harry vanished. The professor held him at wandpoint and gestured him to stand. Harry stood shakily, wincing at the pressure on his swollen ankle.

“Look in the mirror, boy,” Quirrell’s voice was harsh and clear. “What do you see?”

Harry looked in the mirror. He saw his reflection; except he looked different. His robes were clean and freshly pressed. He stood straight and tall, with an easygoing grin on his face. His gait exuded confidence and he wasn’t alone.

Surrounding him were more people than he could count. They came in different shapes and sizes, except they all either had his messy black hair and thin face, or his green eyes. Standing next to him was a middle-aged woman with vibrant red hair and green eyes identical to his. His mother stood with her arms around his reflection as she hugged him tight. Standing with his arms around her was a near clone of Harry – except older and with hazel eyes. His father smiled back at him.

Harry stared at the mirror and his hand touched his shoulder where his mother’s hand was resting. He felt nothing but the ruffled cloth of his robes.

“Mum? Dad?” Harry’s voice cracked. He took a step closer to the mirror, committing every detail of their faces to memory. His vision blurred with tears, and he blinked them away furiously – he didn’t want to let the reflection out of his sight for even a moment.

As quickly as it had come, the longing faded, replaced by anger. What kind of cruel joke was this mirror? Showing him what he longed for the most though he knew he could never have it? Harry’s gaze turned to anger as the mirror changed colour. The magic of the mirror became visible to him, and he saw it swirl with unfamiliar traces – though he recognised a familiar blue-and-orange signature mixed into the rest.

He turned to Quirrell and saw the older man glaring at him. The black and silver magic rolled off in waves, tendrils reaching out to Harry like dark, skeletal hands. The power of the darkness was palpable, if unstable. It flickered as it reached him, recoiling. Harry took a step away from Quirrell.

The man raised an eyebrow expectantly. “What do you see, Potter?”

Harry would be damned if he was going to tell his deepest desire to the man who’d tried to kill him. “I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore – I’ve won the House Cup AND the Quidditch Cup. Gryffindor is cheering, and the Slytherins look angry.” Harry forced out a laugh. He was rather proud of that lie, and Quirrell seemed confused, if disappointed.

“He lies,” spoke the disembodied voice, and Harry’s heart froze over. “Let me speak to the boy.”

“Master, you are not strong enough,” Quirrell sounded worried.

“I have strength enough for this.”

“Yes, Master,” Quirrell said subserviently. He began unravelling his turban, and Harry watched with cautious confusion as the purple fabric pooled on the ground. The last of the turban fell to the floor and Quirrell turned around.

Harry gasped in a mix of terror and pain and clasped a hand to his forehead. His scar felt as if burning oil was being injected into it. Sheer adrenaline and willpower kept Harry upright as pain lanced through his body.

On the back of Quirrell’s head, where there should have been smooth skin, was a second face. The face was misshapen and wrinkled. It had slits for a nose and a thin line for a mouth. Its eyes were pupilless and red, like glinting rubies in the firelight.

“Hello, Harry Potter,” the face spoke. “It has been quite a while, hasn’t it?”

Harry knew there was only one person this could be. “Voldemort,” Harry grit his teeth, partly because of the pain in his scar, and partly because of the unquenchable rage that filled him at the sight of his parents’ killer.

“Indeed,” Voldemort’s mouth twisted into a smile, but there was no feeling behind it. “The greatest wizard to ever live, reduced to a mere shade – a parasite. Do you see what has become of me, boy?”

He snarled and Harry looked on with disgust.

“I know you lie. Tell me, do you know why we are here?” The dark lord questioned. At Harry’s blank look, he continued. “Within this mirror is a relic – an old relic that is so powerful it can return me to life. I sense that you are the key, boy. Now look in the mirror again and tell me. What. Do. You. See?”

Harry felt a wave of magic pulse from Voldemort. He saw the black cloud reach for him and felt a sudden compulsion to tell Voldemort everything. The cloud burned away in tiny sparks against his skin, and he felt the urge vanish.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and Harry quickly looked at the mirror, avoiding his glare.

Once again, Harry saw the image of his family. He suppressed the anger and longing. Voldemort said there was a relic of some sort inside the mirror. Was it only a matter of time before he found it? Harry needed to find out how to get the stone if only to prevent the evil wizard from getting it for himself.

Harry’s reflection in the mirror grinned at him and winked. His reflection put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a glittering red stone, before dropping it back in. Suddenly, the real Harry felt a weight in his pocket.

No way.

Harry restrained himself from checking. Thankfully, his bulky robes were enough to conceal the bulge, but he knew Voldemort would realise sooner or later.

“Well, what is it, boy?” Voldemort looked impatient when Harry turned back to him.

“I-I told you, I see myself winning the house cup and the Quidditch cup. My friends are cheering me on as Dumbledore gives me a handshake and –”

“Lies,” Voldemort hissed. “I will give you one last chance, boy. Take the stone out of your pocket and give it to me.”

Harry knew he was screwed, but he wouldn’t go down quietly. “Never,” he growled.

“Then die like your foolish parents,” Voldemort said with a sinister smile. “Quirrell! Grab him!”

Quirrell turned around and lunged at Harry. He stepped backwards, and a searing pain enveloped his back, eliciting a scream. Harry lost his footing, and pain lanced up his injured ankle as he collapsed to the floor. A pillar of flame blocked the only exit behind him.

He was cornered.

Quirrell reached out and grabbed him by the throat. He screamed till his throat was ragged, feeling as if a knife was being plunged through his scar over and over. Out of sheer instinct, Harry grabbed the first part of Quirrell he could find. He felt the professor’s face under his fingers and tried to push him away.

Quirrell’s cry of agony snapped Harry out of the pain-induced daze he’d been in. The professor staggered backwards, clutching his face with his hands.

“What are you doing? Kill him!” Voldemort snarled from behind Quirrell’s head.

The professor removed his hands from his face and Harry saw boils and blisters in the shape of handprints. Quirrell reached for his wand and Harry lunged at him, intending to rip it out of his hands.

When Harry’s fingers wrapped around his forearm, Quirrell let out an ear-piercing scream. Harry held on for dear life, despite Quirrell trying to shove him away. The professor kicked Harry’s injured ankle, and he crumpled to the floor, dragging Quirrell with him. The professor stood up shakily, nursing his wand arm that looked blistered and burned like his face.

Was this Harry’s doing? Was he hurting the man just by touching him?

Harry felt sick but caught himself. This was Voldemort. This was the man who tried to kill him. The man who killed all those innocent unicorns. The man who killed his parents. The reason he was forced to live with the Dursleys.

Every bad thing in his life came back to the limping man stood before him. Harry felt incredible fury as the man’s image flickered. Quirrell’s purple robes flickered with the black and silver of his magic.

Harry snarled and lunged at the man once more. This time, he grabbed the professor by the face and listened with horror as he screamed. The rage and horror battled in his mind, the former forcing him to hold on even as the latter begged him to let go.

He looked behind him at the mirror and even though he didn’t see his parents, it strengthened his resolve, and he tightened his grip. Harry recognised his magic as it intermingled with Quirrell’s. His magic burned away at the tendrils, and Harry watched it spread from his hands onto Quirrell’s face, leaving it burnt and blistered as it passed. There was a blinding pain in his scar as he touched the professor, and Harry screwed his eyes shut as his screams joined the terrible symphony.

After what felt like an eternity, Quirrell fell limp to the ground and Harry collapsed next to him.

The adrenaline faded away and Harry sobbed, curled into the fetal position on the floor. He dry-heaved at the thought of the pain he’d inflicted. He stared at his own hands in horror.

He heard a rustling sound and watched as a black cloud rose from Quirrell’s body. He watched, terrified, as the cloud passed through him and fled through the flames. Harry screamed as his scar once again burned with a pain so intense that Harry felt his vision begin to fade away. Then, his world went completely dark.

Harry awoke to blinding white. His mind felt fuzzy, and he wondered if he was in a dream. He blinked the spots out of his vision to find himself in a startlingly white room. Light seemed to come from the white marble walls, bathing the room in a brilliant glow. He was in a birchwood bed, and even the sheets that covered him were white. He looked around in awe before his gaze rested on the woman sitting on the bed next to him.

Her hair was dark, and her skin was as pale as snow. She was round-faced, and there was an innate kindness in the laugh-wrinkles around her eyes, which were closed as she hummed along to a jaunty tune. She didn’t seem to be aware that Harry was awake.

“Hello?” Harry asked hesitantly. The woman’s eyes shot open and violet irises looked back at him with curiosity.

“Hello there, Chosen,” the woman said merrily. “Glad to see you awake.”

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled. “Where am I?”

“You are in the Palace of Light. Home to my mother and your patron, Theia,” the woman told him.

“Your mother? Who are you?” Harry asked.

“Surely you know who I am,” the woman’s lip twitched as she raised an eyebrow. She placed her hand over her heart in faux outrage. Harry gave her an apologetic look. “I sent dear Firenze to save you.”

“Luna is in anticipation,” Harry repeated Firenze’s words absently. The woman chuckled.

“Indeed, she is,” Luna cocked her head to the side, studying him. Harry gaped at her. He was talking to a goddess?

“I’ve been quite curious watching you, Boy-Who-Lived,” Luna laughed as Harry scrunched his nose at the moniker. “A terrible life you’ve lived. I’m glad Mother decided to choose you. Jupiter knows you needed the help.”

Harry flushed in embarrassment.

“I’m Harry. Harry Potter,” he said meekly. “Ma’am,” He added as a hasty afterthought.

The goddess laughed. “I know who you are, Chosen. I’ve been watching you.”

“You’ve been watching me?” Harry asked dubiously.

“The moon knows all that happens in the night, Harry,” there was a hollow look in the moon-maiden’s eye, and she looked far older than her form belied. “I’ve heard every cry and plea whispered under the cover of darkness. Every spouse begging to be rescued from their violent marriage. Every abused and neglected child just wishing for someone to love them. I hear them all. I’ve heard you, you know? In that cupboard, praying that someone would whisk you away. That someone would only love you.”

The goddess took a shuddering breath. “I know your bloodline. To think that a Chosen was being treated so horribly. It angers me – and I know it also angers my mother.”

She took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. “But no matter. Come, Chosen – there is someone who is looking forward to meeting you.”

Harry laughed nervously. He was growing increasingly confused as he followed her out of the room.

Luna led Harry through a birchwood door, down a hallway, and into a large, open room. It was the size of the Great Hall. There was a garden on the far end with trees, shrubs, and a tiny creek (Harry wondered where the water came from). Near the entrance was a training area with archery ranges and practice dummies. A small plaza sat in the centre, with tables and lawn chairs strewn lazily about the square. Marble pillars reached into a ceiling that – much like the Great Hall – opened to the heavens. Harry watched the Moon Maiden look distastefully at the bright sun beaming down upon them. She waved her hand, and the ceiling turned to a starry night with a crescent moon. She hummed her satisfaction and walked toward the plaza. Then, Harry realised he and the goddess weren’t alone in the room.

A spectre lazed about in the plaza, turning when Luna cleared her throat. It looked at him silently.

“I asked Pluto for permission to cleave a former Chosen back to their body so that they may train you, should you accept Mother’s blessing. Pluto said I could have her till midsummer, so halfway through your vacation,” Luna gave Harry a complex look as they approached. “She may not have completed her trials, but she knows enough to teach you the basics. Plus, I imagine you’ll have a great time learning from her.

“Trials?” Harry asked. There was so much information to intake, but the word stood out to him.

“There are trials each Chosen must overcome that will test both your skill and strength of character,” Luna explained gently, looking at Harry with a smile. “Only by completing the trials can one receive mother’s full blessing. Only then will you become a true Chosen. Till then, consider yourself a Chosen-in-training, if you please.”

Harry’s brain swam with information as they approached the raised dais at the plaza's centre.  The spectre waited, growing more and more opaque as they neared. Harry watched the greenish-blue hue of the ghost be replaced by pale skin, red hair, and emerald-green eyes.

Harry froze on the steps of the dais. The once-spectre-now-woman smiled sadly.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Lily Potter smiled at her son.

“Mum?” Harry croaked. Lily just held her arms out to him.

Harry let out a choked sob and sprinted the rest of the steps into his mother’s arms. She felt cool to the touch, and her form had a silky texture like a thick fluid barely being held together by an impossible force. He didn’t care.

His arms wrapped around her middle and he sobbed. The longing that built up within him since he gazed into that blasted mirror exploded into thick, salty tears. He felt his mother’s arms wrap him in an embrace – how good it felt to finally think those words. He felt like a child sobbing into his mother’s arms as the fear, pain, and longing broke through walls wrought by ten years of the Dursleys.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry we left you all alone,” Lily spoke softly, her chin resting on her son’s head. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and it felt cool against his hair. “But you’ve done so well for yourself, despite the odds. Despite Petunia and her horrible husband. Despite everything stacked against you, you’ve grown into such a fine young man. I’m so proud of you Harry, and so is your father, though he can’t be here right now.”

Harry’s sobs only grew louder as he heard the words he’d longed to hear his entire life.

“I miss you so much. It’s so hard being alone, Mum,” He mumbled into her side.

“I know, darling, I know,” his mother whispered. “But you’re not alone. Never, Harry. Your father and I are watching over you always.”

Harry nodded before pulling away. His eyes scanned his mum’s face, memorising every line, every crease, and every wrinkle. He committed it all to his memory. He didn’t need to enter the Nothing to know that this moment would join his most treasured memories.

His mother guided him to a chair where he sat. His tears stemmed, though he imagined his eyes were still red-rimmed. Lily sat next to him, still clutching his hand, and the Moon Maiden, who’d graciously let the mother and son have their moment, sat opposite them.

“As I told you before, Chosen,” Luna spoke with a glint in her eye. “If you accept the blessing, you can learn to harness your potential under the tutelage of your mother. I must inform you that the two of you only have till midsummer. Afterwards, she must return to Pluto’s kingdom, and you will not see her till your time to pass comes.”

Harry felt his chest constrict at the thought of saying goodbye. His mum squeezed his hand, and he felt a wave of reassurance. He never thought he’d get even a moment with her, let alone three months. He would take what he could get and live with the knowledge that he would see her and his dad again one day.

“So tell me, Harry Potter,” Luna leaned forward in her chair and steepled her fingers. “Will you become Theia’s Chosen? Will you swear to champion the Light Mother’s values and ideals in the mortal world? Will you act as her ambassador among the mortals, perpetually furthering her agenda and illuminating their path forward? Will you represent the House of Light with justice, honour, and kindness as we are due?”

“I will,” Harry spoke without hesitation. The chance to be with his mother again – if only for a few short months – was reason enough for him. Luna rested her hand over Harry’s heart. A soft silver glow enveloped him, concentrated in his chest.

“Congratulations, Harry Potter,” Luna inclined her head stoically, though her violet eyes shone with excitement. “You have begun the path to becoming Theia’s Chosen. May the divine light guide you.”

Harry could only smile in thanks. He felt his senses sharper than ever before, and it was overwhelming.

He could trace with his eyes each line in the marble walls. He could smell the sweet scent of the flowers in the garden and hear the soft rush of running water from the creek.

He narrowed his eyes, activating his mage sight before rearing back. The magic of the room was also white, except it was unbearably so. The magic shone so bright Harry could only compare the feeling to staring directly into the sun.

Lily chuckled. “I probably should have warned you that the castle uses divine magic – something far more potent than the kind humans use.”

Luna stood up, prompting the other two to follow. The trio walked out of the hall they were in and entered a smaller room. Inside was a set of hangar doors and a Greek war chariot. The chariot was made of wood and covered with ornate silver furnishings. Strewn across its length were drawings of the different stages of the moon, and depictions of warriors and scholars alike praying for its guidance. The chariots were pulled by two winged horses whose pelts gleamed silver.

Luna smirked at Harry’s gobsmacked expression.

“Dusk is nearly upon us, and I must begin my nightly journey,” she explained. “On this occasion, I will be returning your consciousness to your body which lays comatose at Hogwarts,” at Harry’s panicked look, she looked bashful. “I forgot to tell you that didn’t I?”

Luna hopped onto her chariot and leaned over the edge. “When you collapsed after fighting that professor of yours, you were unconscious for over a week. One day, you regained enough sense of self that, as dawn began to break, I managed to rend your consciousness from your body and bring you here. In other words, you are dreaming all of this – though that doesn't mean it isn’t real,” she added hastily.

“Every time you go to sleep, either myself or my brother Sol, will bring you here where you will be trained. A little favour to our mother and yourself,” Luna winked.

“Unless you want your friends to think you’re actually comatose, I would recommend coming with me now so I can return you to your school.” Harry was conflicted. He looked at his mother and felt her hand wrapped around his. It was the first time in his life that he could talk to her, be with her, and feel her embrace. He didn’t want to leave.

But then he thought of his friends. Ron, Hermione, Alicia, the rest of the team, and even Katie, who he was still rather tense around. He didn’t want to leave them behind.

Besides, he’d see his mum the next night when he fell asleep.

He sighed and looked at his mother once more. She smiled encouragingly and let go of his hand. He stepped onto the chariot behind Luna. The goddess took the reins and the horses

“I can’t believe I get to ride on the moon!” Harry exclaimed. His love of flying was overtaking his reservations. He wondered if it would feel anything like being on a broom.

“Sadly, if you were to remain conscious, you would be driven insane. Good luck, Chosen,” Luna looked at him with amusement. Then she snapped her fingers, and for the third time, Harry’s world went black.

Chapter Text

Once again, Harry woke up to blinding white. Blinking spots out of his eyes, Harry recognised the painted white stone, rows of beds, and smell of disinfectant belonging to the hospital wing. He tried to sit up, falling back into his pillow as his body protested the motion.

A groan escaped his lips and the matron, Madam Pomfrey, bustled over immediately.

“Good to see you’re awake, Mr. Potter,” she waved her wand in complicated patterns, and strange symbols floated in the air. She frowned at the signs and gave him a scrutinising glance. “You gave us quite the scare. Your friends have been beside themselves with worry.”

Harry imagined Alicia and Hermione’s wrath and winced. “When can I go see them?”

Madam Pomfrey hummed to herself. “In a few days perhaps, but now that you are awake, I shall allow them to visit you.”

“Thanks.”

The nurse inclined her head before retreating to her office. She returned with a tray full of potions. “You’re severely malnourished, which is impeding your body’s natural healing process. I suggest you drink these nutrition potions,” she gestured to the tray. “They will bring you back to acceptable health. While that happens, I will inform your head of house that you are awake, and taking visitors.”

Harry tried to sit up once more and bit back a whimper. With the assistance of the matron, he managed to do so successfully. His arms felt like lead as he reached for a vial, but he waved off the matron’s aid regardless. She gave him a disapproving look before going back to her office.

He took another cursory scan of the room. His bed was the only one occupied. Looking to his right, he gaped at the verifiable mountain of sweets on a neighbouring bed. He reached for a chocolate frog before a sharp pain shot up his arm. He fell back into the bed lamely.

Harry picked up the first vial, gritting his teeth as the weight sent pain shooting up his arm. He uncorked it and brought it to his lips. He shuddered at the foul smell, tipping his head back and downing the potion in one go. He gagged as the thick fluid went down his throat. The potion tasted like wet socks, but the vile taste helped clear his mind. He looked at the remaining vials. Those could wait. He wasn’t in a rush, anyway.

He settled back in bed and closed his eyes. With nothing better to do, Harry slipped into the Nothing. He watched the new memories, drinking in the sight of his mother. He replayed the moment she’d embraced him over and over. Eventually, that memory faded away, assigned to labels such as ‘family’ and ‘longing’, replaced by a room with a mirror.

Harry watched in horror as Quirrell screamed and tried desperately to escape Harry’s grasp. The older man flailed under his grip, grabbing at Harry’s hands as he pressed his full body weight into his face. After an eternity, Quirrell twitched before falling limp. Harry watched the dark spirit that could only be Voldemort leave Quirrell’s body and flee.

The memory was associated with ‘fear’, ‘horror’, ‘evil’, ‘Voldemort’, ‘anger’, ‘guilt’, and ‘disgust’.

A choked sob left Harry’s lips and ripped him out of the Nothing. Guilt, disgust, and self-loathing intermingled in his stomach. His head spun, and the vile potion he’d downed threatened to resurface.

He watched his hands light up with obscure symbols as his mage sight activated. He turned his palms over; the same palms that had brutally murdered Quirrell. He felt bile rise in his throat. He swallowed thickly.

He brought his hands close to his face but couldn’t bring himself to make contact. He feared he would burn himself, much like he had Quirrell. The hairs on the back of his neck raised as he saw his magic swirl in his hands. The symbols that dotted his arms pulsed but where Harry had once seen wonder and potential, he could only see disgust and evil.

Harry had a sudden realisation that the book from the restricted section was right. He was a Parselmouth and a killer at age eleven. He was becoming a dark wizard. His whole body shook at the thought. He closed his hands into fists and laid them at his sides.

His breaths came in short, erratic gasps. He was certain he was breathing but felt no air in his lungs all the same. The thought of the fear and disgust on his friends’ faces when they inevitably realised what he was clawed holes into his heart.

He lay still on his bed with his eyes screwed shut. His body shuddered and his face was slick with tears, but he didn’t dare wipe them off. He didn’t dare move his hands at all; his hands that were capable of murder.

“Girl, this is the hospital wing!” He heard the nurse as the door swung open with a loud bang. “If you cannot be careful, I must ask you to leave.”

“Sorry Madam Pomfrey,” a familiar voice spoke sheepishly. “Professor McGonagall told us Harry was awake.”

He opened his eyes and saw two blurry figures in red-trimmed robes. He blinked and his vision focused. Alicia and Katie stood near the entrance, getting chewed out by Madam Pomfrey. The matron pointed in Harry’s direction, and the two girls half-walked-half-jogged to him.

“Harry!” Alicia made to hug him as Katie followed at a more sedate pace.

“No! Don’t touch me!” Harry shrieked. Alicia looked hurt. “I’m dangerous! Please, I don’t want to hurt you!”

Alicia’s expression turned concerned, and her hands fell to her sides. Katie just looked confused.

“Harry, if you were at risk of hurting people, Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t have allowed us to see you.” Alicia tried.

“No! Y-You don’t understand!” Harry rambled. “Quirrell he – I burned him. I killed him. I’m a monster!” He was sobbing again, and his hands balled up the sheets. “I just don’t want to hurt you, please.”

Harry was staring at his lap now and couldn’t see either girl’s reaction. He was surprised when a hand reached for his. He tried to pull away, but the grip was too tight. He looked up to see Alicia holding his hand. She pried his fingers apart and clasped them between hers.

“See? I’m perfectly fine,” Alicia blinked back tears and gave him a cheeky smile. “I trust you, Harry. I know you’d never hurt your favourite chaser.”

Harry stopped struggling.

“You all right, Green Lightning?” Katie said in a weak attempt at levity.

Harry groaned at the nickname and put his head in his hands reflexively. He immediately realised what he’d done and pulled away. Weirdly enough, he felt fine. There was no burning pain, and when he tentatively ran his hands over his cheeks, his skin felt smooth under his fingers.

Harry’s breathing settled and he wiped the tears off his cheeks. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

Alicia pulled him into a hug and squeezed the life out of him. “Thank Merlin you’re alright. I was so worried…” she sniffled.

As always, when Alicia hugged him, Harry had a moment of panic which he stamped down. His form stiffened under her warmth, and he had no idea how to react.

There was a part of Harry that wanted to push her away. He hesitated to let his guard down again – not after what happened with Katie. The aftermath of the Norbert incident only proved to him what Dudley had beat into him as a child. People would always leave him. Letting people in only ended up getting him hurt.

But at the same time, when everyone mocked and disparaged him, Alicia was supportive, if a little angry. Hermione and Ron stuck with him through trolls and dragons and even the threat of Voldemort’s return. Even Katie, whose friendship he’d ruined, was here and visibly concerned for him.

Maybe the Dursleys were wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time – his relatives weren’t particularly intelligent. Could he afford to place his faith in his friends? Could he handle it if he was wrong? Could he live with himself if he’d been right but hadn’t taken the chance?

Tentatively, Harry raised his arms and returned the hug, albeit awkwardly. Alicia went slack around him before holding him even tighter.

The dam broke and all of Harry’s self-loathing and disgust spilled out as tears on the shoulder of her robes. His body shook as he sobbed into her arms.

“I-I killed him – Professor Quirrell,” Harry mumbled into her robes. “He was trying to kill me; he wanted to resurrect Voldemort. I was hurting him, but I didn’t let go.”

His voice cracked as he took a deep, shuddering breath. “He was screaming in pain, and I didn’t stop. Am I a monster? What’s wrong with me?” He pulled away from Alicia. “Maybe they were right all along. Maybe I am a freak.”

“You’re not a freak, Harry,” Katie said firmly. Alicia nodded.

“It was self-defence,” Alicia still held him, in an embrace he’d seen before in the enchanted mirror on the third floor. It was how his mother held him in the reflection. She stroked his hair absently. “Whatever happened down there – it wasn’t your fault. Quirrell kidnapped you.”

“I still feel terrible about it,” Harry said, though he already felt a tiny bit lighter.

“That just means you’re a good person, Harry,” Alicia said softly. He withheld the adamant denial that was his instinct. Maybe they were right. Would a monster like Voldemort truly feel remorse? Perhaps he wasn’t a monster after all. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe their words.

“Thank you,” Harry said, looking at Alicia and Katie for the first time.

“Anytime,” Alicia said, and Katie grinned.

“If you ever need us to knock some sense into you, just let me know.”

A watery laugh slipped out of Harry, and he already felt in higher spirits.

The girls sat with him for a while, and the trio made a substantial dent in the sweet mountain. They told him he’d missed all his exams, though Professor McGonagall had informed a frantic Hermione that he could take them over the summer. They’d shared a good laugh at that. Trust Hermione to have her priorities straight even when he lay unconscious in the hospital wing.

The girls left, promising to return with the rest of the team, along with Ron and Hermione. Soon after, the door opened once more, and Professor Dumbledore stepped inside.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Harry exclaimed, surprise colouring his features. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking in, Harry,” the headmaster chuckled. He gave Madam Pomfrey a genial nod when she peeked out of her office. He smiled at the mountain of sweets. “I see you’ve amassed quite the collection.”

Dumbledore nodded at the small pile of sweet wrappers and gave Harry a knowing smile. “I assume Ms. Spinnet and Ms. Bell are partly responsible for the sizable dent here?”

Harry could only give a sheepish grin in response. “Professor – not that I’m complaining – but where did all these sweets come from?”

“You see, Harry, the events of three weeks ago between you and Professor Quirrell, and your long recovery are a well-kept secret. So, naturally, the whole school knows,” Dumbledore picked a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavoured Beans out of the pile. “I believe these are from your well-wishers. Your friends, the Weasley twins, sent you a toilet seat. Where from, I do not know, but alas, Madam Pomfrey confiscated it. She claimed it was unhygienic.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, and Harry laughed.

“I must apologise on behalf of the staff of this school, Harry,” Dumbledore looked solemn. “We failed in our duty as teachers, to protect you from danger – especially since that danger was from one of the staff. I know Professor Flitwick in particular feels rather guilty.”

“Oh – professor, it was my fault,” Harry felt bad about getting his mentor hurt. “I followed him to Quirrell’s office even though he told me not to. Professor Flitwick only got hurt because he was trying to protect me. How is he? I hope he wasn’t too badly injured.”

“Professor Flitwick is doing all right, Harry,” Dumbledore said. "I daresay he’ll visit you himself before you are free from the hospital wing. Speaking of which, I assume Ms. Spinnet and Ms. Bell told you about your exams?”

“Yes, will someone really be coming to my house during the summer?” Harry asked with curiosity and a little trepidation. He didn’t want anyone from the wizarding world to meet the Dursleys. He didn’t want them to pity him – or worse yet, think him a freak.

“Yes, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall have volunteered to proctor your exams. They will arrive sometime in early August.”

“Huh. Neat,” Harry said and the two lapsed into silence. Harry was chewing on his bottom lip. There was one thing he wanted to ask but he was terrified of the answer.

“What happened to Professor Quirrell and Voldemort – Er – I mean, You-Know-Who.”

“Call him Voldemort, Harry. Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself,” Dumbledore said sagely. “After the possessed Quirrell failed his task and appeared incapable of hurting you, Voldemort abandoned him and left him to die.”

Harry’s heart shrivelled up in his chest. He really had killed Quirrell.

“So, it was me? I killed him?” Harry’s voice wavered. “What will happen to me?”

“Nothing will happen to you, Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice was soothing, and Harry found the tension in his shoulders releasing despite himself. “Professor Quirrell has been dead for a long time; ever since he gave himself to Voldemort. Do not blame yourself. You were only defending yourself, and albeit unknowingly, you prevented the return of Lord Voldemort.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Professor – when I touched Quirrell, his skin burned. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

“I do not believe anyone else would have the same reaction to your touch that Quirrell did,” Dumbledore spoke gently. “When your mother gave her life to protect you, such an act of love created a powerful protection. In your very blood is a love so deep that Voldemort, who has never loved or been loved, cannot fathom, let alone touch. That protection would never hurt those that mean you no harm.”

Harry physically felt the stress and despair leave him as he let out his first calm breath of the day. He wasn’t dangerous. He wouldn’t hurt anyone just by touching them – just Voldemort. He could live with that.

“Professor, what was the relic – whatever Voldemort was looking for?”

“The stone you found is called the Philosopher’s Stone,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “The pinnacle of alchemical achievement. This one, the only one of its kind in known existence, was created by an old friend of mine, Nicholas Flamel.”

“Who’s Nicholas Flamel?” Harry asked.

“An old friend of mine,” Dumbledore said genially. “I believe he was a Sentiomagus, like yourself.”

Harry perked up at the information. “A Sentiomagus?”

“Yes, he taught your mother a few things, I believe,” Dumbledore smiled as Harry’s eyes widened. “I spoke to him after the debacle three weeks ago, and when I informed him of your talents, he said he would reach out to you during the summer.”

“But sir, a book I read said the last known Sentiomagus was Grindelwald,” Harry missed the way Dumbledore’s eye twitched. “Is Mr. Flamel’s ability a secret?”

“Ah, that would be because Grindelwald was the most recent Sentiomagus,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Nicholas is over six hundred years old.”

Harry gaped. “How…”

“The elixir of life is the closest thing wizards have ever achieved to immortality. Nicholas and his wife Perenelle have lived for a long time,” Dumbledore said. “Alas, he has agreed that the last of the stones – the one you saved – must be destroyed.”

“Then won’t he die, professor?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Harry, he will. But to someone like Nicholas, death is like going to sleep after a long day. After all, to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure,” Dumbledore said, suddenly sombre. “Still, Nicholas has enough time to get his affairs in order. I believe meeting you will be one of his final endeavours. I implore you to cherish this opportunity, Harry.”

Harry was awestruck. The thought of learning more about his mother’s ability from the person who taught her excited him beyond words could describe. The fact that Flamel was over half a millennium old and a wealth of information was only a bonus. He was also humbled to hear that Flamel was spending the last of his newly limited time to meet Harry. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled knowingly at his upturned mood.

“Speaking of the stone, there was this mirror,” Harry gestured wildly, and Dumbledore’s beard twitched into a smile. “I saw my parents in it, and I saw myself – except I had the stone somehow?”

“That, Harry, was the Mirror of Erised,” Dumbledore explained, and his smile turned sad. “It shows but the deepest desires in your heart. You, an orphan who has never known your family, see them beside you.”

Harry nodded dumbly. He didn’t think he trusted himself to respond. Echoes of the rage he’d felt when he saw the mirror thrummed through his veins. How dare the mirror mock him by dangling in front of him what he desired the most, knowing it was unattainable?

“What you saw there, with yourself and the stone, was one of my finer ideas,” Dumbledore said, and Harry thought that the almost smug satisfaction looked rather funny on the wizened professor’s face. “You see, the stone would only appear to someone who wished to retrieve it but never to use it. That’s why Quirrell needed you to retrieve it for him.”

“So, if I hadn’t been down there, Quirrell never would have gotten it?” Harry frowned, wondering whether he’d nearly caused the return of Lord Voldemort.

“One cannot say, Harry. In theory, yes, but at the same time, all enchantments can be broken. We can never know. I implore you to abstain from this line of thinking,” Dumbledore said kindly. “There are many hardships in life - especially when you get to my advanced age – that are of our own making. We cannot afford to spare a thought for those that are not.”

“Professor, Can I ask you one last question?” Harry asked after a moment of contemplative silence.

“You already have,” Dumbledore chuckled, and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “But I shall permit you to ask one more.”

“That night – why did Voldemort come after me and my parents?”

“Alas, Harry, that is a question I cannot answer,” Dumbledore said seriously. Harry frowned. “I shall tell you when you are older and ready.”

Harry nodded reluctantly. Dumbledore smiled kindly and held out the box of Bertie Bott’s.

“Would you care for an Every Flavoured Bean?” Dumbledore asked, and Harry politely refused. “I was rather fond of these in my youth, but I once came across a vomit-flavoured one. Lost my liking for them after that.  I think I will be safe with a toffee-flavoured bean; wouldn’t you agree?”

Dumbledore picked one out of the box and popped it in his mouth. “Alas, earwax.” He said through an exaggerated grimace, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, Harry, I must take my leave. Classes have just ended, and I believe you will have many guests to host very soon.”

Dumbledore could not have been more right; ten minutes had not passed since the headmaster left before he was swarmed by a crowd of eight. Ron and Hermione nearly ran through the doors, followed by the entirety of the Quidditch team.

He enjoyed watching the twins, who’d set off fireworks when they saw him, get reamed by Madam Pomfrey. The eight visitors piled into chairs or the neighbouring beds. Alicia opted to make herself comfortable at the foot of his bed, and Oliver was still engrossed in a tense conversation with Madam Pomfrey. With Harry’s blessing, the party of eight made a considerable dent into the pile of sweets.

“What’s Oliver talking to Madam Pomfrey about?” Harry asked, chewing on the end of a liquorice wand. The captain was looking more and more defeated as they spoke.

“Probably trying to convince her to let you play next week,” Katie took a bite out of a chocolate frog, perched on a nearby bed with her feet dangling off the edge.

“The Ravenclaw game is next week?” Harry exclaimed in shock.

Simultaneously, Hermione glared at the back of Oliver’s head. “He’s trying to make him play? After everything he just went through?”

Harry promptly ignored his best friend the Quidditch hater.

Katie nodded mournfully. “Yup, I’ve been subbing in as seeker – it’s not looking good.”

“I’ve been talking to Hopkins. He’s subbing in as a chaser for Katie,” Angelina explained at Harry’s confused look. “He seems all right but with you in the hospital and Katie in an off role it’s going to be difficult to take the cup.”

“Sorry,” Harry said meekly. His insecurities flared up again and he wondered if he might lose his spot on the team because of this. A scenario played in his mind where Katie caught the snitch and took his position as the seeker. He tamped down the momentary resentment that filled his thoughts.

“Don’t worry about it, Harry,” Alicia patted his arm. “‘S not your fault. We’ll make do. Worst come to worst, there’s always next year. Try not to get kidnapped though next time, yeah?”

Harry snorted. “Advice taken.”

Oliver joined the group, claiming a spot on the floor. He leaned back against a bedpost. “How’ve you been, Harry? Pomfrey says you’re not ready for strenuous activity.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, telling everyone just what he thought of her prognosis. Harry could only give his captain an apologetic shrug.

The large group was allowed to stay for a few minutes longer before Fred and George set off another explosion, getting everyone kicked out. Alicia gave Harry one last hug before promising to come see him the next day. The twins were plotting over which Hogwarts plumbing fixture to send Harry next – they had their eyes set on something from the prefects' bathroom. Hermione was already jabbering about the study planners she’d make Harry so he could prepare for his exams over the summer, and Ron promised to bring him an extra thick slice of treacle tart from dinner to help him wash down the potions.

“All that sugar will only impede his recovery, Mr. Weasley!” Madam Pomfrey chastised when she overheard them. “If you want him to recover quickly, do refrain from the sweets.”

Speaking of his potions, three vials remained untouched. He’d drank one before his guests, and Alicia and Katie had forced two more down his throat when they’d stopped by earlier. He reached for a chocolate frog from the mountain of treats his friends had demolished. If he were to drink the foul concoctions, he would need something sweet to wash it down. His hand wrapped around the golden and purple box when he had a thought.

Recover quickly, huh?

Harry withdrew his hand from the sweets emptyhanded. He sighed resignedly before uncorking another vial and plugging his nose.

It was going to be a long night.

Meanwhile, in Gryffindor Tower, the three chasers sat together in the third-year girl’s dormitories. At the beginning of the year, Alicia and Angelina had brokered a deal with their other roommate to switch beds with Katie now and then. After much bribery (Angelina’s chocolate stash had taken a rather severe hit) the other third-year Gryffindor girl agreed to sleep in the second-year dorms once in a blue moon. Tonight was one such blue moon.

“Big sister Alicia, adopting firsties,” Katie sang, dressed in striped pyjamas. Alicia rolled her eyes from where she sat on her bed. “Did you write the Ministry for the adoption certificate already?”

“I reckon they’d be quick with it too. They probably remember her from when she adopted you last year,” Angelina laughed from the bathroom. She stuck her head out the door and gave the younger girl a knowing look. Katie’s face went red.

“Alicia did not adopt me!” Katie protested. Angelina only raised an eyebrow. “I don’t count!”

“Why not?” Angelina retorted. Katie sputtered.

“Because – Because –” Katie huffed and rolled her eyes, prompting laughter from the other two girls.

Angelina walked out of the bathroom and flopped into bed – Alicia’s to be specific. She smothered the smaller girl under her weight. Alicia let out a muffled screech.

“Geroff me, you ugly brute!”

“Make me,” Angelina grinned at a laughing Katie, as Alicia made a futile effort to shove the larger girl off.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” Angelina said cheerfully, and Alicia’s struggles slowed. “I thought it was just because Harry was knocked out but you’re still acting odd.”

Katie looked at the older girls with intrigue. Alicia finally succeeded in shoving Angelina off, though realistically, Angelina let herself get shoved off. She sat at the foot of the bed and brushed a stray braid off her face, pulling a rubber band off her wrist and tying her hair back.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Angelina grinned, flicking her wand at Katie, and the younger girl yelped as her bed was dragged over to the other two.

“Now that we’re all nice and comfortable,” Angelina dropped back on her bed with a thud, panting slightly from the exertion of the spell. “Out with it, lady, what’s filling up that empty noggin of yours?”

“Just something Harry said,” Alicia said dismissively, though she was clearly bothered by it. Katie also frowned and Angelina looked confused.

“Speccy? He looked fine when I saw him,” Angelina shrugged. Katie shook her head.

“You didn’t see him when he first woke up,” she frowned, her eyes glazed over as she relived the memory. “He was distraught, saying something about Quirrell and that he was dangerous. I’ve never seen him like that. He looked terrified when Alicia tried to hug him.”

The girl in question flinched and hugged her knees to her chest. “I was so relieved he was okay, I just forgot he didn’t like hugs that much. He’s never been big on physical contact, but the way he jumped away, I thought he was afraid of me…”

Katie shifted and hugged Alicia, who smiled gratefully.

“I’ve never seen someone like that,” Katie said, looking at Angelina. “I’ve never seen someone look so… scared. The worst part was that he was afraid of himself. He thought he would hurt us.”

“Did you hear what he was saying?” Alicia asked, her face paler than ever.

“Yeah, I thought I’d heard wrong. Rather I hoped so,” Katie said with a deep frown.

“What did he say?” Angelina asked as a feeling of foreboding settled over the room.

“He said he killed Quirrell – in self-defence – because he was trying to resurrect You-Know-Who,” Alicia said gravely. There was a sharp intake of breath from Angelina.

“You’re joking, right?” she laughed weakly. Alicia shook her head.

“Wish I was. I wonder what he saw down there that made him think that.”

“You don’t believe him?” Angelina raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Alicia shrugged helplessly. “He was rambling, in the middle of a breakdown. He certainly seemed to believe it. Besides, why would he lie about something like that? He’s been hurt by You-Know-Who more than anyone else. And I don’t think he’d lie to us.”

Katie nodded and visibly shrunk. “I think that he at least believes he saw You-Know-Who. Whether that actually was him… I really hope Harry’s wrong.”

Angelina hopped into Katie’s bed and hugged her tight. The younger girl squeezed back desperately.

“Speaking of Harry,” Alicia said in a feeble attempt to change the topic. “Are you two speaking again?”

“Yeah…” Katie frowned. “He talks to me fine during practice, but it’s not like it was before. I think he’s still mad at me about the whole ignoring him thing.”

Alicia frowned. It didn’t seem like Harry to hold a grudge. “He’s been a little withdrawn around the rest of the team too. Doesn’t really talk to us as much and hangs out more with those first-year friends of his. I hope we didn’t do anything, though I can’t think of anything besides your little spat.”

Angelina shrugged. “Nothing we can do at the moment. I reckon things will sort themselves out.”

Katie shrugged helplessly, and Angelina squeezed her again, receiving a smile from the younger girl.

“Anyway,” Angelina’s forcefully cheerful voice cut through the tension. “I saw you acting real chummy with Cedric after breakfast. When’s the wedding Katie-kat?”

Katie turned bright red, whether because of the mention of her crush or the nickname was to be determined. She shoved Angelina off her bed, and the larger girl tumbled with a startled yelp.

“Ooh,” Alicia clapped her hands together. “Who gets to be maid of honour? Me or Angie?”

“Neither of you, if you keep this up,” Katie grumbled. Angelina poked her head out over the side of the bed.

“So, there is a wedding then? We’re just not invited?”

Katie shrieked, grabbed a pillow, and began playing whack-a-mole with Angelina’s head. Alicia howled with laughter from the safety of her bed.

As the girls enjoyed their slumber party, Harry Potter was fast asleep. While his body rested between the sterile sheets of the hospital wing, his mind had been whisked away to a realm far away. He woke in a familiar, birchwood bed. The luminescent white walls glowed their welcome as he sat up. The Palace of Light welcomed its Chosen.

Sat on the chair next to him was a familiar, red-haired woman. Harry stared disbelievingly at his mother. There was a part of him that had believed his previous foray into the Palace of Light was but a dream. The rational part of him pointed out that he’d been too aware, too lucid – too awake to have been dreaming. But he’d been hesitant all the same. It seemed too good to be true. And if Harry learnt anything from Uncle Vernon ranting about his drills, it was that when something seemed too good to be true, it probably was.

But the evidence to the contrary sat right before him, reading a muggle thriller novel called The Talented Mr. Ripley.

“Mum?” Harry called tentatively. The word still felt foreign on his tongue.

“Harry, you’re awake!” Lily Potter beamed at him. She hugged him, and he felt that same cool, silky texture as her hands caressed his face. He found himself comparing the hug to the one he’d received from Alicia a few hours prior. He didn’t like that he preferred Alicia’s hugs to Lily’s. Alicia’s hugs were warmer, whereas Lily’s were cold and uncomfortably smooth. Lily held him as if he might break, while Alicia hugged him as tight as possible, conveying her affection through the embrace. Harry felt a little guilty. Here he was hugging his mum after ten years of desperately wishing for such a thing, and he was critiquing her technique instead of enjoying the moment. Especially since he knew they were on borrowed time.

He did wonder why she felt so cold. Perhaps it was because she was only a spectre. His heart felt heavy at the reminder.

Mother and son left the bedchamber, heading to the same open area they’d been in previously. The room was as Harry remembered it, except for the plaza in the middle. Where there had once been lawn chairs were now yoga mats and an assortment of pure white feathers inside a pale white gazebo. Once they were shaded, Lily waved her hand and curtains fell over the gazebo, blocking them from the outside.

“Inside here, you should be safe to use your mage sight,” Lily gestured to the feathers. “Try it.”

Harry focused, and the feathers illuminated with crackling white magic. He glanced at his mother. She was also that same, brilliant shade of white. She smiled as he blinked, and the symbols disappeared from his body.

“This has to do with what we’ll be learning today. You’ll learn to identify the type of spell on an object.”

Harry and Lily sat on opposing mats, with identical feathers between them. She walked him through the process of reaching out to the magic and understanding it. She made it sound like he was communicating with the magic – asking it questions. She explained that magic was essentially a sentient energy that is used to manipulate reality.

Magic could be used to exert one’s will over existing objects, changing their very nature. This was the basis for Transfiguration. It could also enhance or supplement an object, changing its properties without modifying it. This was taught as Charms. Magic was also innately present in living beings other than witches and wizards, such as certain plants and animals. Of course, this line of magic was foundational in Herbology and Potions and as he would learn later, Care of Magical Creatures. Potions and Herbology were two sides of the same coin, she explained. Herbology dealt with identifying innate magical properties and how to utilise them effectively. Potions dealt with combining those different ingredients to manipulate their innate magic, changing their properties to achieve a particular effect.

Harry wondered why they weren’t taught this theory in Hogwarts. He found himself understanding his classes much better after seeing them from this perspective. When he voiced his thoughts, Lily told him it was harder for those without their gift to visualise and comprehend these concepts. It was hard to view magic as an energy being manipulated in certain ways when you couldn’t see the energy and watch it be manipulated. Only NEWT-level students were taught this advanced level of theory.

Lily taught him to identify the different categories of magic. She transfigured a feather into a teapot, and he watched the strands of magic twist across the surface as it morphed. The best way he could describe it was that her magic was fighting the feather – which made sense with the explanation. Even after the feather was fully turned into a teapot, Harry could see the strands of magic constantly in flux as it fought the teapot’s innate desire to become a feather again. It reminded him of the way his broom looked when he first got it. The way his magic fought the magic of the broom maker for ownership. However, the broom had been fighting another magical signature, whereas the magic on the teapot was fighting its very nature.

Lily cast a colour-changing charm on a different feather, turning it blue. Harry picked it up and felt for the magic. Like the transfiguration spell, the magic was in constant motion. Where the magic in the feather-turned-teapot had been erratic and almost belligerent, the colour-changing charm was smooth, fluid. The magic seemed to flow together like a constant, circular stream. He felt the feather was almost accepting the enchantment. After all, it wasn’t trying to pervert the feather’s nature, simply change its properties.

Lily explained that an ancient wizarding philosopher by the name of Aristotle had formulated the theory that was still used as the basis for spell creation. Lily said Harry would learn about it if he took Arithmancy – something Harry was sure he would now do. But the gist was that any object has a substance – a primordial, innate quality that was necessary for it to be considered as such. For humans, it was the soul, but for innate objects, it wasn’t quite that simple. No one knew exactly what made a feather a feather, but they knew it wasn’t a teapot. Transfiguration required more willpower than Charms because the former changed the very substance of the feather into that of the teapot, whereas changing the colour only changed its outward properties – it was still, at its core, a feather.

Lily explained that the idea of the substance was essential to Transfiguration in particular. To that end, the unknown variable that Harry learned about in his first year of Transfiguration with McGonagall was related to substance. Lily told him that that discussion, while interesting, was far beyond anything they would need for their lessons.

Before he knew it, the moon above them was replaced by the first rays of the sun. Lily smiled sadly as they looked up at the sky.

“It’s time to leave, Harry,” she smiled sadly. “I will see you tomorrow night.”

Harry smiled wistfully as Lily led him to the chamber he’d woken up in. He hugged her once more before she tucked him into bed.

“Sol will take you back,” Lily said from where she sat next to him. “Sleep, love. Sweet dreams.”

Her voice held a hint of irony at the end, and Harry laughed. Suddenly, his eyes drooped as sleep took him once more.

Harry didn’t have a pleasant sleep. In the first rays of dawn, he thrashed and turned in his bed as nightmares took him. He dreamed of Quirrell, who smirked cruelly with eyes as red as blood. That comparison only became truer when dark crimson liquid oozed out of Quirrell’s eyes as he screamed. Handprints appeared across the older man’s face, and the skin underneath turned raw and blistered. The man turned to ash, and in his place stood Harry. He looked different – older, taller, powerful – but his eyes were empty. The green was dull and murky before it disappeared entirely, replaced by a red like burning coals. The Harry in the dream laughed and waved his wand, and there was a slithering sound as hundreds of snakes swarmed him. The snakes receded, and where Harry once stood was a pile of bodies. He made out bright red hair, a bushy mane, and a scarlet and gold bandanna with a golden broom pin.

The bandanna was stained with blood.

Harry woke up screaming.

Madam Pomfrey rushed over with a potion vial. She held the back of his head and tipped the vial into his mouth. He shuddered and stilled as he felt the calming potion enter his system.

“You’re all right, Mr. Potter,” the matron soothed him. “You’re safe and healthy. You’re all right.”

Harry’s breaths came out in whole-body shudders. His chest felt as though a heavy weight pressed down on it. He rubbed his chest, forcing his breathing to steady.

“I’m all right.” He gently shifted away from the nurse, who gave him a reproving look but didn’t press the issue. Instead, she walked away and returned with another tray of potions.

“In that case, I’m sure you’ll be fine to drink all of these. I shall bring breakfast afterwards.”

Harry groaned as Pomfrey left the tray on his nightstand. He focused on the potions, ignoring the bloodied bandanna or the pile of bodies that kept cropping up in his mind. A welcome distraction came in the form of Ron and Hermione, who came to visit him before classes.

Hermione gave him a bone-crushing hug as soon as he entered, and Harry felt himself tense at her touch. He sat awkwardly with his arms trapped at his sides. Ron walked in slower and gave him an easy grin.

“All right, Harry?” asked the red-headed boy.

“Not too bad,” Harry shrugged. “Can’t wait to get out of here though.”

Ron snorted while Hermione looked at him suspiciously. Harry didn’t realise his complexion still looked rather peaky. There was an air of anxiety about him after that terrible nightmare he’d awoken to.

The trio chatted for a few minutes, and Hermione gave Harry a rundown of everything he’d missed in classes. He found that between his occlumency and the things he’d learned from his mother, he managed to keep up with most of what Hermione was telling him. It gave him hope for his exams during the summer. She also gave him a large stack of parchment – her exam prep notes. Harry thanked her repeatedly and she looked rather pleased with herself.

Grudgingly, Harry’s friends left for class, leaving him alone in the hospital wing. Harry, for lack of pastime, read the notes Hermione gave him. They were comprehensive and meticulous, and he found them easy to understand. He resolved to buy her a large slab of chocolate on the train ride back. Even though her parents, the dentists, disapproved, Harry knew Hermione had a hidden sweet tooth.

That was how Alicia found Harry when she stopped by after classes. She sat on the edge of his bed, and he looked up from where he’d been solving Transfiguration equations.

“No, you’ve got to multiply the wand power with the concentration, then subtract the unknown variable,” Alicia pointed to the scribbles on his page. Harry rearranged his equation and then grinned when his answer matched the key.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Alicia patted his hand absently, then she looked at him seriously. “How’re you doing, Harry? Feeling better since yesterday?”

“Yeah, loads,” Harry said, and he found it wasn’t a lie. He’d taken to a little walking earlier and found he felt mostly fine. At this point, Madam Pomfrey was keeping him around just in case he had some delayed symptoms. He was having an easier time mentally too. Despite his nightmare about Quirrell, he felt loads better about the whole ordeal. When Dumbledore assured him that he couldn’t hurt his friends with his touch, he found that the most prominent of his fears had been assuaged. “Sorry about yesterday. That was embarrassing, I didn’t mean to get snot on you.”

She snorted. “That’s fine, Harry,” she said softly, softer than he’d ever heard her. She squeezed his hand. “I don’t mind. Really,” she added at his dubious look.

“I just don’t want to be a burden,” he said meekly. She glared at him.

“You’re not a burden, Harry Potter,” she said fiercely. “You’re my friend. If you have problems, I want to hear them. I want to help however I can. I can speak for Oliver and Katie and Angelina and the twins that they feel the same. You’re not alone, Harry.”

Harry felt tears well up in his eyes and withheld a sniffle. “Thank you.” His voice was small but earnest.  If there was anything the last twenty-four hours had shown him, it was that his friends really did care for him. He tried to remind himself he wasn’t alone.

After ten years of being told the opposite by the Dursleys, that would take some time to sink in. But Harry promised to remind himself every chance he got.

Harry held his arms open, and Alicia grinned before hugging him. She squeezed him tight, but not in the suffocating way Hermione tended to. She also didn’t treat him like glass, like the fragile embrace his mother preferred. Alicia’s hugs were somewhere perfectly in the middle, and Harry found that he had a new favourite hugger.

He noticed that Alicia was quieter than usual. Missing was the sarcastic wit he usually associated with her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She sifted through his notes absently and hummed noncommittally.

“Alicia?” he prompted. She bit her lip.

“What exactly happened down there, Harry?” Alicia asked quickly. Then, her face went red. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I didn’t want to bring up bad memories. It’s just – when we first saw you…”

Harry nearly recoiled at the fear in her eyes.

She’s afraid of me. I am a monster. He thought dejectedly.

“When we first saw you, you said something about Quirrell – that he tried to resurrect You-Know-Who.”

A chill ran through Harry as he looked at his friend. He was so used to seeing her as older, wiser, and someone to go to for advice that he sometimes forgot she was only two years older than him. Only thirteen. And he’d insinuated that the worst dark lord of their era was still alive. She wasn’t scared of him. It was Voldemort she feared. Relief flooded him, and the same righteous anger he felt whenever he thought of the dark wizard only intensified.

Harry recounted the entire story, beginning with the Quidditch match. Alicia gasped when he told her about the jinxed broom. She chastised him for not telling Oliver about the note. She looked relieved that he went to Flitwick, which quickly turned to horror when he detailed the professors’ duel and the aftermath. She hugged him shakily when he detailed the bright green spell.

“Harry, that was the killing curse,” she whispered. “If Flitwick hadn’t conjured those birds…”

She shuddered at the thought.

“Then Quirrell cast a spell on me, and I fell asleep. Then I woke up in this stone room. There was nothing there except this gaudy gold mirror,” Harry’s breathing became quick and shallow as he recounted his worst memory. “Quirrell was looking for something – some kind of stone. I looked in the mirror and realised the stone was in my pocket.”

Alicia gasped.

“Quirrell realised I had it, and tried to take it from me,” Harry hugged himself, and Alicia rubbed his back soothingly. “He tried to choke me, and I grabbed his face. My touch – it burned him, Alicia. He was screaming. It was horrible.”

Harry’s voice failed him, and the two sat together in silence.

“He pulled out his wand and was going to kill me,” Harry continued quietly. “I just lunged at him. I grabbed him, and he screamed and screamed, but I didn’t let go. He fell to the floor, and I passed out. Then I woke up here.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she said feebly. “You’ve been through so much…”

Then her eyes took a stormy quality more akin to the Alicia he knew.

“This is all on Quirrell,” she said stoutly. “You are not to blame for any of this, Harry. You’re a good person and you’re not dangerous; don’t ever think otherwise. Got it?”

Harry nodded. “Dumbledore told me I can’t hurt anyone else like I did Quirrell.”

“Huh, that’s good” Alicia blinked. “How’d you hurt him anyway?”

“My mum left me some kind of protection when she died,” Harry shrugged, though his eyes got a little misty. “Basically, anyone trying to hurt me will burn at my touch.”

“That’s pretty neat,” Alicia grinned. “You should give Flint a high-five next time you see him.”

Harry laughed. “I don’t think it would work for something as petty as that, but I’ll try anyway.”

“Then what was that about You-Know-Who?” Alicia gulped.

“Ah,” Harry swallowed. He debated whether to tell Alicia about Voldemort. He could see the fear in her eyes at the thought of his return. But he couldn’t lie to her.

No more secrets, Katie’s words rang through his head.

“Quirrell was working for Voldemort.”

Alicia flinched violently. Whether that was from the utterance of Voldemort’s name or the implication of Harry’s statement, he didn’t know. He told her about the encounter in the Forbidden Forest, about the Philosopher’s Stone hidden in the third-floor corridor, and seeing Voldemort’s face for the first time.

“You-Know-Who was on the back of our Defence professor’s head this whole year?” Alicia’s face was in her hands. “Harry, are you sure it was him? Maybe it was someone else. There has to be another explanation.”

“I wish there was, ‘Licia,” Harry said solemnly. “Dumbledore himself confirmed it. Voldemort wants to finish the job. He wants me dead.”

That sealed it. Alicia let out a choked sob before falling silent.

There was not a single noise in the hospital room. Alicia stared at Harry with horror dancing in her dark eyes. He waited with bated breath. He waited for her to renounce their friendship. Call him a murderer. Call him dangerous. A boy marked for death. He half expected her to run away. He didn’t expect her to embrace him.

Once more, he sobbed into her shoulder. His relief was palpable in the form of thick, salty tears.

“You just can’t catch a break, can you?” Alicia sighed.

“You’re not leaving?” Harry asked, astonished. Alicia pinched his arm angrily.

“And why would I do that?”

“I’m a killer. And I have Voldemort after me,” Harry said as if it were obvious. “It’s not safe to be my friend.”

“I figured being your friend wasn’t safe on Halloween, Harry. I thought I would have a heart attack when I found out you wrestled a bloody troll,” Alicia smirked at him. He scratched his neck embarrassedly. “I’m still here, aren’t I? Us Gryffindors, we don’t usually run from our problems, you know?”

Harry nodded into her shoulder. A warm feeling filled his chest. He still couldn’t believe that Ron, Hermione, and now Alicia, hadn’t left him once Voldemort reared his head. How did he get so lucky? He resolved to put double effort into their Christmas presents next year.

“Can you – can you not tell the others that I killed Quirrell?” he mumbled. “I don’t want them to think differently of me.”

Alicia hummed her assent. “I promise no one will think differently of you, but I’ll keep your secret anyway. Thanks for telling me. I imagine that must’ve been hard.”

Harry smiled weakly. “‘S all right. I trust you.”

Alicia grinned back, flattered. “I appreciate it, Harry.”

The two sat together, poring over Hermione’s Transfiguration notes. Alicia was rather good at the subject, so Harry was getting a good grasp of the concepts as she explained them. She also praised Hermione’s notes, finding them as impressive as he did.

The door to the hospital wing opened again, and Professor Flitwick entered, carrying Harry’s book bag.

“Mr. Potter, feeling better, I hope?” Flitwick beamed at Harry, who nodded in response. “Ms. Spinnet, I’m glad to see you visiting him. Mr. Potter is very lucky to have friends like yourself.”

Alicia’s cheeks pinked as she mumbled a thank you.

“I have your things here, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick’s grin dimmed a little as he handed Harry the bag. “I managed to repair the tear in your bag, though some of the things within were irreparably damaged.”

Harry opened the bag and pulled out his invisibility cloak. In his haste to check the cloak for damage, he activated his mage sight, forgetting Alicia sitting on a chair at his side.

“Harry, you’re glowing!” she exclaimed. He nearly dropped his cloak, and the mage sight fizzled out.

“Thanks, I feel a lot better too,” he grinned. She rolled her eyes.

“Not what I meant, you prat,” Alicia swatted his arm. “What was that!”

Harry looked at Flitwick, who grinned at Harry unhelpfully. He explained his mage sight to Alicia, omitting the details about being Theia’s Chosen. He hadn’t even told Flitwick about that yet, as he wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. She stared at him in awe.

“So, you can just – see magic?”

Harry nodded. “And touch it. Eventually, I might be able to smell and hear it too.”

“How do you smell magic?” Alicia asked, bemused.

Harry shrugged. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”

“Huh,” Alicia said intelligently. “And what’s that?”

“This is my dad’s old invisibility cloak,” Harry said proudly. “Got it for Christmas. No idea who sent it to me.”

“You’ve been holding out on us, Harry,” Alicia whistled, looking impressed. “Do not let Fred and George know you have one, though. I shudder to think of what they’d do with a bloody invisibility cloak.”

“I’m of half a mind to let them use it for the prank they’re going to pull on you,” Harry grinned mischievously. Alicia groaned and put her head in her hands.

“Why did I agree to that?” she whined. “I’ve been so paranoid this past year; you have no idea, Harry.”

Harry laughed and Alicia joined in, shaking her head. Flitwick cleared his throat, and the two students looked sheepishly at their professor as they remembered his presence.

“I must go soon since I have my third-year charms essays to grade,” Flitwick winked at Alicia, who laughed. “Mr. Potter, you will find all your things inside that bag, broken or otherwise. Also, I wanted to give you my apologies – I failed to protect you from Professor Quirrell, and it is my fault that you are here in the hospital. I failed you and your mother. For that I am sorry.”

The professor bowed his head, and Harry frowned.

“Professor, it wasn’t your fault,” Harry insisted. “Just like I told Dumbledore, I followed you to Quirrell’s office despite your orders. If anything, I should apologise to you. Quirrell only stunned you because you were trying to save my life. Alicia told me about the curse Quirrell cast. I would have died if not for you. So, thank you, Professor.”

Flitwick smiled weakly. “Thank you for the kind words, Harry. I will leave you with your possessions.”

Harry rummaged through his bag as the professor left. He had a sinking feeling as he sifted through the scrap parchment and the quills. He pulled out a plastic bag with bright blue shattered fragments inside.

“Is that –” Alicia started, and Harry nodded.

“The sneakoscope you got me,” Harry’s voice was small, and his vision was blurred with tears. He blinked them back. “Yeah, Quirrell smashed it. It was in my bag. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, Harry,” Alicia took the bag from him and tapped it with her wand. “Reparo,” she said. Nothing happened. “Worth a shot,” she grinned at Harry who smiled weakly.

“Seriously though, don’t worry about it,” Alicia said. “I don’t care about the sneakoscope. What’s important is that you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, still looking at the remnants of the sneakoscope. One of the first Christmas presents he’d ever gotten was gone. Just like that. Because of Voldemort.

 “I’ll get you another one next year,” Alicia grinned. “This way I don’t have to think too hard about your present.”

Harry snorted and felt better. Maybe Dudley was wrong after all. Maybe not everyone was meant to leave. Maybe some people were meant to stay.

With those light-hearted thoughts, Harry accepted the chocolate frog Alicia handed to him. The two of them bit the head off their frogs in tandem and shared identical, chocolate-stained grins.

Yeah, he was starting to believe that now.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9 – Last Minute Substitutions

The mood in the locker room was sombre, to say the least. It was the morning of the last Quidditch game of the year. The championship game. The team assembled at the lockers to get ready and talk strategy. Yet, there was a noticeable empty spot next to Katie where the Gryffindor seeker should've been. The twins were joking around as usual, trying to cheer everyone up, but their hearts weren't in it. Katie, Angelina, and Alicia huddled together, though the empty spot felt glaringly obvious. Oliver was nowhere to be found.

The identity of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was centred around teamwork. The chasers could almost read each other's minds, on and off the pitch. They could synchronise passes and plays with as little as a look. Such a synergy was borne of close bonds of friendship. The less obvious yet still pivotal piece of the chasers' success was their seeker. Harry was small and lithe. Too small to hit yet too fast to avoid. His interference plays were second only to his prowess in catching the snitch. The chasers had come to depend on their seeker to bring their playmaking capacities to new heights.

Angelina Johnson would never say this to her close friend and fellow chaser, but Katie simply didn't measure up to Harry's ability. He was able to pivot between searching for the snitch and helping the chasers with an ease that Katie simply couldn't match. And she was sure that Carl Hopkins knew he wasn't even close to as good a chaser as Katie.

As lead chaser, it often came down to Angelina to drag her teammates kicking and screaming across the finish line. She would call plays and adaptations, and her teammates would look to her for inspiration. That was why she kept a brave face even though her gut feeling told her that there was no way this roster would be able to take that trophy home.

There was a good half hour left till the beginning of the match, and Oliver was still holed up in his office. She stood abruptly, receiving odd glances from her teammates, and stalked to the captain's office. She twisted the door open, just in time to hear a guttural howl and get pelted in the nose with a wad of parchment.

She yelped as she rubbed her nose. "What the hell, Oliver?"

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't see you open the door," Oliver said weakly. Angelina took a proper look at him. His hair was dishevelled, and he was slumped forward in his chair. His face was drawn taut with stress, and his eyes were red. She'd never seen Oliver like this before. She shut the door behind her, standing opposite him.

"What's wrong?"

He gestured to the parchment on the ground. She picked it up and unfurled it. It was a note from Hopkins saying he couldn't make the game. He got himself detention for calling some Slytherin a 'dirty toerag' in front of Snape. Angelina sighed heavily and slumped into the chair opposite Oliver.

"Now what?" She rubbed her temples. "Do we forfeit?"

"Tell Katie she's back on chaser," Oliver said with a stony expression. "We play as six. If we stay 150 ahead of Ravenclaw today, we can win even without a seeker. That's our best bet."

"Got it," she nodded. He was right. Staying 150 points ahead of the Ravenclaws was unlikely even with their proper chaser line up, but it was their best chance of winning even though Ravenclaw would inevitably catch the snitch.

She spared him a glance. There seemed to be something deeper than just the loss of Hopkins that was bothering him. She opened her mouth but hesitated and turned to the door.

"That offer to talk still open?"

"Yeah, of course," Angelina said, turning to face him. "This about Clearwater?"

Oliver shook his head with a watery laugh. "Not entirely. Sure, it bloody hurts that she's dating my mate, but it's not something I can hold against either of them."

He took a deep breath. "It's all of this," he gestured around the room at the trophies and the pictures of red-robed players. "The burden of leadership. It feels too much sometimes. You ever get that feeling like you're going to fall apart, but you've got to pull yourself together for everyone else?"

"All the time," she said softly.

"How do you fix it? How do you stop feeling like that?" Oliver asked desperately, and Angelina struggled to reconcile this Oliver with the calm, composed older boy who'd taken her under his wing two years ago.

"You don't," she shook her head. "It's not something you can fix. You just learn to share the burden. If you fall apart, you let other people help put you back together."

"But it's so hard," he mumbled into his hands. "I just feel like I have to be strong for all of you, you know? I need to set the bar high for the rest to follow. Why would any of you trust me to help you if you knew I couldn't even help myself?"

"Oliver, you're our captain, and we all look up to you," Angelina paused, both surprised by her words and the truth behind them. She thought carefully about what to say next. "But you don't have to be perfect for us. There's strength in showing weakness, you know? We won't think any less of you for it."

"I guess," he said. "It's just so hard sometimes to talk about my problems. I always think I could be helping someone else instead of complaining."

"It's not complaining, Oliver," Angelina chuckled. "You help us so much that I'm sure any of us would be willing to return the favour. Just give us that chance to help. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

"Thank you," Oliver croaked, and Angelina smiled. "I think I needed to hear that."

"Anytime," she stood. "I'll go let the team know about Hopkins. I'll get them ready for the game. You – take your time and come out when you're ready."

He nodded gratefully as she shut the door behind her. She broke the bad news to the rest of the team. Katie looked happy she'd be playing her actual position, even if they were most likely going to lose.

Oliver came out of the office a few minutes later. He looked the same as always, with an easy grin and relaxed posture. He still spoke enthusiastically about the match and seemed unfazed about the disadvantage they were going in with. Now that she knew to look for it, she noticed the way Oliver's shoulders would slump when he thought no one was looking. There was a weight to his steps as if each was laboured. It was subtle, but it was there, and once she'd noticed, it was all she could see.

The team geared up together. Knee and elbow pads were strapped, beater's bats were swung, and practice quaffles were tossed. Despite the missing player, the remainder resolved to do their best to win.

Meanwhile, in the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey left her office and walked to her sole patient.

"Potter, I think you're feeling well enough to leave," she approached his bed, which had curtains drawn around it. She knew Harry was fully able and assumed he'd grabbed them to get changed. She'd checked him over earlier this morning and he was fully recovered. "I would tell you to take it easy for a few days, but I know you'll want to watch today's match. As a reward for your good behaviour, I'll even let you play."

Pomfrey paused. She really thought that would have elicited a much larger reaction than utter silence. Her eyes narrowed and she pulled the curtain aside.

The bed was empty. There was but a note tied to a chocolate frog.

Sorry, but I need to play this game.

I hope you accept my apology frog.

Thanks for healing me.

Pomfrey snorted at the note before shaking her head. She really should've seen this coming. The boy was so much like Lily that she forgot that James' blood also ran through his veins. She shrugged and happily bit into the chocolate frog before heading down to the pitch. Now that she was free of patients and the entire school populace would be at the match, she felt safe in going and watching it herself. If he was going to sneak out of her care to play Quidditch, then Harry Potter better be damn good on a broom.

Back in the locker room, the fully geared-up team sat and waited to be called onto the pitch. Katie stood by her locker, fiddling with the strap of her goggles. Oliver and Angelina were going over plays and formations, muttering amongst themselves. Fred and George were playing rock, paper, scissors, except neither twin used rock, paper, or scissors. Alicia sat on her bench with her eyes closed and breathed evenly.

"Boo!" A voice came from right in front of her. She jumped slightly and opened her eyes. Standing before her was a grinning Harry Potter. Except it was only his head suspended in the air. She let out an unholy shriek.

The rest of the team turned and looked at her, alarmed. Katie screamed and Oliver let out a string of rather colourful words.

After a moment of shock, her brain caught up with her. Alicia gripped the air just below Harry's head. Her fingers latched on a smooth fabric, and she pulled. The rest of Harry appeared, and a silvery fabric appeared in Alicia's hands.

"Is that an invisibility cloak?" Katie asked in amazement.

"What are you doing outside the hospital wing?" Alicia asked at the same time.

"And yes, it is," she added for Katie's benefit.

Harry looked sheepish. Alicia's eyes narrowed.

"Harry, did you sneak out?"

"Madam Pomfrey said she'd discharge me soon anyway," he tried.

"But she hasn't yet?" Alicia raised an eyebrow.

"Uh…"

Alicia crossed her arms. "If Madam Pomfrey hasn't said you can play, you can't play."

Oliver made a sound of outrage but was silenced by Alicia's glare. Harry gaped at her.

"But –"

"But nothing, Harry," Alicia said sternly. "I don't want you exerting yourself if you're not supposed to."

Harry looked over Alicia's shoulder and snickered. She turned around to see Katie standing behind her, holding Harry's gear. His goggles were perched on top of her head, over her own.

She grinned unrepentantly at Alicia's glare.

She leaned forward, with the pile of pads and guards in her arms teetering dangerously. She offered the goggles to Harry, who plucked them off her head with a wide grin.

Alicia saw the gesture for what it was – an olive branch. The two wore identical grins, and she thought it was the closest the two had looked to their pre-dragon-incident selves. It almost made Alicia let him get geared up. Almost.

"Nope, gimme that," Alicia gestured to the goggles and Harry reluctantly handed them over. "No Quidditch for you until Madam Pomfrey clears you."

"Well said, Ms. Spinnet," Madam Pomfrey said from the door. Harry blanched and Alicia whipped around. "Indeed, Potter will not be mounting anything until I say so."

The twins laughed and Oliver snorted. Alicia glared at the redheads, and Angelina swatted Oliver over the head. Katie blushed and Harry just looked around, confused.

"Madam Pomfrey, I can explain," Harry started. The nurse looked at him expectantly, and he fell silent. He really hadn't thought he'd get that far.

"Well, Potter, I must say I'm rather disappointed," Pomfrey tutted, and Harry wilted under her stare. "I thought you took after your mother. I'm sad to say that your father's penchant for troublemaking did slip through." Her tone was rather light as she reprimanded him.

"Please, Madam Pomfrey," Harry pleaded. "I need to play today."

Harry had made a promise after his first match. He promised himself that he would catch the snitch every time for his team. For his friends. He couldn't miss this game. Not when he knew what was at stake.

Not when they'd given him their friendship. Not after they'd visited him in the hospital wing even though he might have jeopardised their chances at the cup. Not after Oliver had said he was just as much a part of the team as anyone else. Not when Alicia had listened to him recount killing Quirrell and being targeted by Voldemort and had still stayed by his side.

He needed to do this. They'd proven the Dursleys wrong. They had stayed. He wouldn't let them down.

He wouldn't say all this. That would require telling them about the Dursleys. That wasn't something he was ready to do. But he pleaded with his eyes, trying to convey everything he couldn't say out loud. Madam Pomfrey looked at him and her gaze softened.

"All right, all right, I'll let you play," Pomfrey rolled her eyes. "You were to be discharged today anyway."

The twins cheered, and Oliver and Angelina joined them a moment later. Katie, who was still holding his gear, dropped it into his arms with a grin. Alicia too was smiling now.

"Welcome back, Green Lightning," she ignored his groan and handed him his goggles back. "We missed you."

Madam Pomfrey left the locker room as Madam Hooch's voice announced they would go out in five minutes. Oliver squawked in surprise and ran to tell the referee about the roster change. Harry nearly sprinted into the boys' changing rooms and came out wearing his Quidditch robes in record time.

Katie, who was a little rusty on the chaser role, got some throwing practice in by tossing his protective gear at him. Harry, in turn, got some catching practice by catching each item and strapping it on. The two youngest members of the team ended up stopping when a thrown knee pad sent Harry's glasses flying. He took the opportunity to replace them with his goggles.

Harry stashed his glasses in his locker and joined the team huddle that was forming near the exit. He slipped in between Alicia and Fred. Oliver looked at the team and grinned.

"I had a speech prepared today about how we can win despite not having Harry. That we were good enough to bring it home with a sub. That we've got to do it for him. But we've had something of a miracle," Oliver nodded at him. "We're here as a full team, with everyone playing their intended roles. I'm not usually one for divination, but I'm going to take that as a sign."

Oliver surveyed the team intently. "I know I used to say this a lot, but this one here? It really is the big one. The best chance Gryffindor has had for the Cup since Charlie. The best team that Gryffindor has had in the five years I've been here. And I get to lead you all into this last hurrah. It was the honour of a lifetime even when we thought we would lose. But now? Victory is certain, so let's go out and grasp it like a golden snitch."

Harry whooped.

"You're so dramatic, Ollie," Katie laughed, though there was a fierce determination in her eye that was mirrored by her teammates.

Lee Jordan's voice began announcing the players on the Ravenclaw team. Harry picked up his Nimbus 2000 and grinned as electricity shot up his arm. His nerve endings tingled pleasantly as the magic of the broom finally recognised him as its master.

"And fresh out of the Hospital Wing is Harry Potter! Bring us that trophy, Harry!" Lee announced. Harry steadied the nerves in his gut before kicking off. He needn't have bothered because the nerves vanished as soon as he felt the wind in his hair.

Harry activated his mage sight in mid-air. The magic of the broom now pulsed fully red, white, and green. The magic in his fingertips crackled and intertwined with the magic in the broom. It reached out to him, and his magic responded in kind. Harry turned his broom and found he had more control than ever before. It seemed to read his next move before he could even think it, turning at the slightest prompt and accelerating at the softest push. His broom felt like an extension of his body, entirely his to command.

Harry leaned forward and whooped as the broom accelerated in a split second. He rocketed past the chasers before spinning and turning in the air. These aerial tricks had never felt easier.

The team assembled at the line of scrimmage, and while Hooch went on her usual spiel about clean games, mentioning that this one was for the championship, Harry focused on his Ravenclaw counterpart.

The Ravenclaw seeker was a short, weedy sixth year. He was still significantly larger than Harry, which told him he would be disadvantaged in close snitch chases. Unless the chasers stepped in to help him, the other seeker would easily body Harry out of the contest. His best chance would be to outfly the other seeker or catch him with a feint.

At the referee's call, Harry shot high into the sky, working off his nervous energy with flips and cartwheels, much to the joy of the audience. He floated high above the pitch, surveying, hunting. He would catch the snitch. He would win his team the cup. It was the only way he knew to repay them for their kindness and friendship. There could be no other outcome.

Failure was not an option.

Meanwhile, Angelina Johnson floated above the line of scrimmage, with Katie on her left and Alicia to the right. She watched the Ravenclaw chasers intently. The large, stocky chaser on the left – Davies – was holding his broom with his right hand and stretching his left. Davies was the highest scorer on the Ravenclaw team and most likely to go for the contest. He was also an egotistical prat, which made him doubly as likely. Angelina turned to Alicia, gestured to Davies, and patted her left arm. Alicia nodded and turned her gaze to her opponent. She signalled Katie, and the two girls swapped places.

The chaser in the middle – Burrow – spoke at length to his fellow chasers, who listened intently. Angelina knew that he was her counterpart, the Ravenclaw lead chaser. He would be calling the shots, and she would have to keep an eye on him. She pointed at him and jerked her thumb at herself, in the universal sign for 'he's mine'. Her teammates nodded. The third chaser was a smaller, wiry fourth-year named Stretton. Katie shouldn't have too difficult of a time blocking him.

Angelina looked one last time at her teammates before turning her focus to her opponents. Gone was Alicia's sarcastic smirk, replaced by cold, hard determination. Katie's perpetual smile too was gone, replaced by a focused frown. Her teammates were competitors through and through, and she couldn't be prouder to call them her best friends.

Katie and Alicia deserved the cup. She recalled Oliver, looking broken and vulnerable in his office. He had done so much for them. He deserved it too. She would do everything in her power to bring it to them. She would drag them across the finish line kicking and screaming if she had to.

Failure was not an option.

On the far end of the pitch, Oliver Wood circled the Gryffindor hoops nervously. This was it. The championship game.

Oliver shook the nerves off and went over his notes in his head. From their previous games against Hufflepuff and Slytherin, Oliver knew that the Ravenclaw offence preferred focusing their beaters on the keeper as soon as they were within ten meters of the penalty line. Fred and George had been instructed to protect the chasers and scatter the beaters in such a scenario. He had full faith in Alicia and Angelina's defensive capability, so he would happily be the target if it allowed those two to block the play uninterrupted.

He knew Davies preferred his left arm, and consequently preferred the right hoop, though he was known to sometimes feint and shoot for centre. Very rarely would he attempt a shot on the left hoop.

Burrow was the opposite, and almost always circled back to the left hoop, so Oliver felt pretty confident he could block him.

Stretton was the strategist and supporting player. He preferred to defend and distract and rarely took shots unless he was wide open. When the quaffle was in his hands, Oliver expected it to be passed to a teammate, not scored.

He felt he had a good read on the matchup going in, but only time would tell whether it would be enough. He hoped it would be. He didn't want to fail. He couldn't, not when he was this close.

Failure was not an option.

Closer to the ground, Fred and George Weasley surveyed the chasers. They discussed the most likely flight paths that the opposing team would take, and the most effective ways to scatter them.

The Weasley twins, despite being infamous around Hogwarts for their mischief, were probably the lowest-rated members of the team. Criminally, but not surprisingly, so. Such a thing is inevitable when you have the scariest and most well rounded chaser trio to grace Hogwarts in a long time, an infamously fanatical keeper-slash-captain, and Harry bloody Potter as your seeker. Fred and George weren't bothered by it though. Their friends, their teammates, knew their worth and that was ultimately what mattered.

The twins, sometimes endearingly and sometimes fearfully called the 'human bludgers,' weren't called that just because of their chaotic personalities. No, it was because of the unique style in which they played the game. Fred and George weren't your average beaters who hit the ball at the enemy (though they could do that too, with precision borne of sheer desire for chaos).

What set them apart from the rest was their willingness to throw themselves into the fray. Where most players on the Quidditch pitch try to pick the path with the least resistance to their destination, the twins preferred to cut right through the thick of the chaos. They were the type to intentionally fly in the middle of a Ravenclaw formation on their way to a bludger. The scariest part of playing the twins was that you had to deal with four bludgers instead of two, and two of them only targeted your team.

"D'you reckon they'll try to get Burrow the quaffle instead of Davies?" George asked. Fred scrunched his eyebrows.

"It would be smart," Fred said thoughtfully. "I know Angie would be focused on Davies; they've got bad blood. He'd be a perfect decoy."

At the beginning of the year, Davies had made a snide comment about Katie only getting onto the team because she was Oliver's cousin. Katie and Oliver had shrugged off the comment, but the protective Angelina had taken it personally.

"Burrow gets the first bludger of the day?" George grinned at his twin. Fred nodded.

"Mhmm, you take the shot, I'll play to defend the girls from the other bludger."

"Yeah," George frowned. "Is it weird that I really want to win this game?"

"Not really," Fred shrugged. "The team's been pretty good to us. Plus, poor Harry's been through the wringer. I think he needs a win."

"So, we're actually trying to do well at something school-related?" George snorted. "Must be a first for us, methinks."

"Quidditch doesn't count," Fred grinned. "Plus, imagine Charlie's face when he finds out we've got the same number of Quidditch Cups as him."

George cackled. "Now that is priceless. You've got me sold, brother of mine."

Failure was not an option.

The chasers were assembled in the middle of the pitch. They waited with bated breath for Madam Hooch to release the quaffle and officially start the match. Alicia breathed deep and steady. She hadn't felt this nervous about a game since she'd subbed into a game for the first time last year. But she continued her breathing regardless. In. Out. In. Out.

Madam Hooch's shoulders tensed, and Alicia held her breath. Any moment now. There was the shrill sound of a whistle blast as the quaffle was released into the air. The Gryffindor chasers flew straight for the quaffle. Alicia veered off to intercept Davies, who was reaching for it. She threw her arm out in front of the blue-clad chaser, blocking his vision of the ball.

Davies smirked at her, and she turned around to see Burrow make off with the quaffle. There was a sharp crack as an early bludger was sent right into Burrow. He just barely ducked under it but dropped the quaffle in the process. Katie tried to grab the quaffle but was blocked by Stretton. She strafed to the side, away from Stretton and the quaffle, just in time for a scarlet blur named Fred Weasley to fly between them. Katie slipped past a disoriented Stretton, grabbed the quaffle, and made a break for it.

Alicia broke free of Davies and followed Katie, with Angelina joining them soon after. They formed a tight Hawkshead formation, with Katie at the head and Alicia and Angelina on her wings. A bludger whistled toward them, but George appeared and snapped it behind them. Judging by the startled cry, the shot rang true.

The girls approached the penalty box, and Katie feinted a head-on goal before passing to Angelina.

"BELL SHOOTS – NO, IT'S A PASS TO JOHNSON, WHO PASSES TO SPINNET. SHOT ON GOAL – NO ANOTHER PASS BACK TO BELL WHO SHOOTS FOR THE RIGHT HOOP – IT GOES IN!" Lee's amplified voice rang through the pitch and was promptly drowned out by the cheers from the students. "TEN-NIL GRYFFINDOR."

The girls took their victory lap, slapping hands with each other. Harry swooped down from his perch and exchanged high-fives with the chasers. Wood cheered loudly from the end of the pitch, and the twins gave matching salutes with their bats.

The Ravenclaw chasers made their own attempt at a Hawkshead formation, blitzing down to the line of scrimmage. A diving Harry split Burrow from the pack, and a well-placed bludger forced Stretton to dodge. Alicia flew at Burrow, keeping him distracted long enough for Angelina and Katie to double-team Davies and wrest the quaffle from him.

Davis and Stretton were in hot pursuit of Angelina and Katie, and the scarlet-clad chasers passed the quaffle back and forth on the way to the hoops. Katie received a pass from Angelina and ducked under a bludger. She glanced to one side and saw Stretton. Assuming she was getting double-teamed, Katie lobbed the ball to Angelina, but Davis, who'd been trailing in Katie's blind spot, lurched forward and stole the quaffle.

She swore loudly as Davis turned around. He reared his arm back and threw the quaffle to Burrow, who used the change in possession to break free of Alicia's guard. Burrow made a break for the other end of the pitch, with Alicia in hot pursuit. The Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw entered the penalty zone.

Oliver narrowed his eyes as he watched Burrow approach him. The lead chaser veered out toward the right hoop, but Oliver didn't bite. He knew the Ravenclaw was just trying to throw off Alicia. He turned and swung for the centre hoop. Oliver saw his eyes flit toward the left hoop as he turned sharply. As soon as Alicia was out of intercepting range, Stretton made his shot with a snap of the wrist. Oliver turned sharply back to the left hoop. He reached out his arms and snatched the quaffle clean out of the air. The Gryffindor stands stomped their feet thunderously.

He tossed the quaffle to Katie, who instantly sent it rocketing to Alicia, who'd moved upfield. And so, the play resumed. Alicia and Angelina passed the quaffle back and forth, dodging the Ravenclaw chasers' attempts to steal.

Meanwhile, Harry scanned the skies for a flash of gold. Twice now, he'd gotten distracted by the golden pin in Alicia's bandanna. He couldn't bring himself to ask her to take it off, though. He loved that she wore his Christmas present all the time. He just kicked himself for not buying her something made of silver instead.

He saw Alicia and Angelina struggle with the Ravenclaw chasers just outside the penalty area. Harry dove, collecting momentum before flying between Alicia and her mark, veering wide to the left and making the Ravenclaw chaser come with him to avoid a collision.

Between them, Alicia and Angelina were able to lose the last chaser and enter the penalty zone. Harry retreated to his perch above. The Ravenclaw crowd cheered as the keeper saved a shot on the right hoop from Angelina, and then the Gryffindor crowd erupted in cheers as Alicia caught the rebound and sank it into the left hoop.

The chasers did their victory lap, and Alicia pumped her fist in the air as she passed the Ravenclaw section. Angelina mock saluted a blonde girl in the Ravenclaw stands that Harry vaguely recognised as one of the prefects.

Despite the strong start, the game turned into a stalemate quickly enough. The Ravenclaws began targeting Katie, noticing that she seemed to be a little rusty compared to the other chasers. Burrow was constantly on Katie, not letting her breathe for even a second. The Ravenclaw seeker, Samuels, also seemed to have realised the effectiveness of Harry's interception strategy and began imitating him, swooping and diving at Alicia, leaving Stretton and Davies to double team Angelina. The Ravenclaw seeker also constantly dove and feinted, keeping Harry's attention, not allowing him to interfere with developing plays. The Eagles seemed to have figured out team Gryffindor's game plan and were countering masterfully.

The Ravenclaw chasers double-teamed Oliver, scoring for the fourth time in a row when the Gryffindor captain called a time-out.

"What's going on out there?" Oliver yelled over the wind as the team landed on the grass and huddled together. "We're getting slaughtered!"

"I can't lose Burrow," Katie said angrily. "He just bodychecks me whenever I go for the quaffle. Their defence is too good."

Harry nodded. "I can't help her either because their seeker is always feinting, and I can never fully discount his dives. And whenever they're on offence, they focus me with the bludgers."

"Samuels is always on my arse," Alicia grumbled. "I'm flattered and all but take me to dinner first. He's done everything short of ripping the quaffle right out of my hands."

"So, they're using our strategy against us," Oliver summarised, to nods from the players. He thought for a moment. "All right, this is risky, but we can pull it off. Harry, I want you to double down on the interference. Get Burrow away from Katie. Alicia, keep Samuels close to you. If the snitch shows up, distract him long enough for Harry to get involved. Fred, George, I need you two to focus bludgers to free up Angelina. We're sacrificing Alicia so we can keep Harry in the play."

"Wow Wood, you really know how to make a girl feel appreciated," Alicia snarked.

Oliver snorted. "We've got this. This is our cup."

The team nodded fiercely and the captain held his fist to the middle of the circle. Everyone joined him.

"What are we?" Oliver chanted.

"Gryffindor!"

"WHAT ARE WE?"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

They threw their hands into the air and flew back to their posts. Harry flew high above everyone else but stayed within a quick dive of Katie. He watched Burrow trail her as she approached Angelina with the quaffle. Alicia flew right next to the play and made a sharp left turn. Samuels, who'd been right behind her, knocked right into Davies. A split second later, a bludger caused Stretton to duck. At the same time, Harry dove, aiming for the tiny gap between Katie and Burrow. He pulled on the back of his robes, letting them flare out behind him. It created more resistance but also allowed him to obscure Burrow's vision. By the time Harry passed, Katie was long gone, receiving a wide-open pass from Angelina.

Angelina and Katie were halfway to the penalty line, with only Stretton and the Ravenclaw beaters providing any resistance. Fred and George defended the girls from their counterparts, forcing Stretton to dodge and weave the bludgers flying at him, rendering him effectively useless.

Alicia caught up with the play, with Samuels close behind her. Katie passed the quaffle to Angelina and trailed behind, where Stretton caught up to her. Angelina held the quaffle and reared back to throw. Harry recognised the play and grinned when Katie looked up and smirked at him. Harry dove between Stretton and Katie as Angelina swung her arm at Alicia. Samuels flung himself at his mark. At the last moment, Angelina flicked downward with her fingers, sending the quaffle straight down, right into Katie's waiting arms.

The wild card rocketed past the others, right into the penalty box. Alicia laughed her way past the penalty zone, where Samuels couldn't follow. The two chasers double-teamed the Ravenclaw keeper and scored the easiest goal of their lives.

Harry was cheering for the passing chasers when Fred's frantic voice cut through the pitch.

"SNITCH!" he yelled, pointing at Samuels, pressed against his broom, rocketing toward a distant glint of gold.

Harry pressed himself flat against his broom, and it propelled forward without prompting. This was the first real chase in this match, and he was beginning to realise how much better his broom felt to use.

He stared down the glint of gold as he approached it, sparing the occasional glance at his counterpart. He mentally thanked his teammates for the goggles as the wind batted harmlessly against his face without stinging his eyes. He gained on Samuels, and the two were quickly neck and neck. Where Harry had the advantage in speed, Samuels had the upper hand in size.

Try as he might, Harry couldn't pull ahead. He was in a constant shoving battle with the older boy, and he wasn't winning. This was the exact scenario Harry had hoped to avoid. He tried to shove back, but the larger boy only laughed as he didn't even budge.

Harry clenched his knuckles around his broom as a particularly rough shove forced him to recentre. A bludger whistled toward Harry, and he ducked. So did Samuels. The bludger flew past both their heads, and Harry tried to gain more space, but it wasn't enough to escape the Ravenclaw. Once again, the two seekers were neck and neck.

"This has got to be the best chase I've had all year," Samuels yelled over the wind. "You're pretty good, Potter."

Harry smiled and inclined his head, eyes not leaving the snitch.

"And even the flattery ploy doesn't work," Samuels said. "So focused. I'm half tempted to just give you the win."

"Please do."

Samuels laughed, then stopped when a shadow fell over him. Harry glanced quickly above the other seeker to see Angelina looking down from a few feet above with a feral grin. Harry heard swishing robes to his left and imagined Samuels also heard the same on his right.

"Same as last time?" Asked the person on his left.

He nodded and he could almost hear Alicia's grin.

Harry accelerated as hard as he could. The chiselled wood vibrated under his fingertips as it was pushed to its limits. Samuels swore and flattened against his broom to keep up.

The snitch was just out of reach. His first instinct was to try to grab it. Do it all himself. But then he looked at Samuels, who was having the same idea. It was a head-to-head that he wasn't sure he could win alone.

But he wasn't alone.

He glanced at Alicia, who was watching him, waiting for him to make his move. It was a gamble, but he had to trust his team to pull through for him. They wouldn't let him down.

Harry pulled back on his broom, and his robes flared behind him like a parachute. Samuels watched in shock as Harry conceded the chase. Shock turned to glee, as he thought he'd won before the three Gryffindor chasers closed on him. Alicia pushed Samuels to the side, forcing him away from the snitch. Angelina and Katie boxed him in from above and below.

The wind pulled at Harry's hair as he tried to steady himself on his broom. He quickly stabilised and leaned forward again, barrelling towards where he'd last seen the snitch. He saw it again, glinting near the Ravenclaw stands. He swerved out of the way of a bludger and continued on the path. He was nearly there. Only a couple of meters away.

He heard a startled cry and heard a swearing Samuels trailing behind him. Harry was too fast; the older boy wouldn't be able to catch up in time.

It was just Harry and the golden snitch.

The ball zig-zagged erratically, and Harry followed each turn, surprising even himself with the broom's control. It was only a few inches away now. He could almost feel the wings beating against his fingertips. The ball switched directions, trying to slip past him as Harry lunged forward and gasped as he nearly fell off his broom. He braced with both arms on the handle.

Suddenly, Harry couldn't breathe. There was something lodged in his throat. He gagged once, then twice, then with a painful heave, something fell out of his mouth and into his hands. Something tiny and golden.

Harry stared in disbelief as the snitch unfurled in his palms.

He held it up, and the crowd exploded with chants of his name.

"POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!"

His feet touched the ground, and he stared in shock as scarlet-clad players landed around him.

"POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!"

He saw Alicia grin at him as her feet met the grass.

"POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!"

Oliver barrelled into him, knocking him to the ground. The older boy hugged him as tears flowed unashamedly down his cheeks.

Harry's elation was so intense that he didn't even process the hug enough to be uncomfortable.

He laughed. It was a laugh of disbelief. It hadn't quite settled in that he'd won. He'd caught the snitch. They were champions.

THEY WERE CHAMPIONS.

Harry and Oliver stood up, just to be tackled again by Alicia. She hugged him and he didn't hesitate to hug her back. The other chasers followed, sending them tumbling to the ground. Fred and George jumped on top of them with an incoherent war cry.

Harry was being poked and elbowed and jostled, but he'd never been happier.

The party in the common room was absolutely mental. The twins had pulled out all the stops. Lining the walls were barrels of butterbeer, pumpkin juice, and the unidentified drink Harry was forbidden from trying, right next to a long table full of every snack and treat he'd ever heard of. Loud muggle music blasted through a magically amplified wireless.

Like the last time, the twins handed Harry an unhealthily large slice of treacle tart before running off to cause mischief. He sat squished between Angelina and Alicia, who argued whether ketchup was fruit juice.

"A tomato is a fruit, though," Alicia said passionately. "If you're going to blend it, you make juice. Ketchup is a fruit juice."

"But you can blend cranberries to make cranberry sauce," Angelina countered. "That's not a juice, that's a sauce. So is ketchup."

"But you cook cranberries to make cranberry sauce. If you don't cook it, it's a juice," Alicia said smugly.

"You cook the tomatoes when you make ketchup, you absolute doughnut," Angelina yelled. Alicia huffed and smirked petulantly.

"Why do you two always get into these silly debates?" Harry shook his head. He looked at Alicia. "Especially you; you always lose them."

"Oh I know I'm wrong," Alicia whispered conspiratorially. "I just like watching her get riled up."

"How's it feel to be out of the hospital AND a Quidditch champion, Harry?" Angelina asked with a grin. Harry returned it.

"Bloody fantastic."

"What's the deal with you and Katie now?" Alicia asked Harry softly. Angelina looked taken aback by the sudden turn in conversation.

"Whaddya mean?" he asked, perplexed.

"I know you've been on eggshells since the dragon stuff," Alicia said. Harry nodded but didn't deign to elaborate. "I'm asking because she keeps looking at you like she wants to talk to you but doesn't really know where to start."

Harry followed Alicia's gaze to where Katie sat off to the side, chewing on a liquorice wand and sifting through a magazine. Occasionally, she'd glance up at Harry guiltily and look away before he noticed.

"Do you still want to be friends with her?" Alicia asked. Harry was surprised by the bluntness of the question and the lack of judgment with which she asked it.

Harry thought about it. He was afraid of being left behind. When Katie stopped talking to him, it had cut deep, bringing up all the 'lessons' he'd received from the Dursleys. They cherished telling Harry he was alone and always would be.

He'd almost forgotten all about it until Katie brought it back with a vengeance. A part of him wanted to abandon her like she'd abandoned him.

But she'd tried to make amends. That was more than anyone else had tried in the past. She'd apologised. She'd come to the hospital wing to see him – she was one of the first there. She'd told him he wasn't a freak and said it so surely that he almost believed her.

She was a good friend, and he wouldn't let one misunderstanding ruin that.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"Then go talk to her," Alicia pushed him gently off the couch.

Angelina grinned. "'Licia doesn't want to see her two adoptees fighting."

"Her what?" Harry rubbed his ear to make sure he heard her right.

Angelina snorted. "Don't worry about it." She shoved him in Katie's direction, and he sat across from her awkwardly. Katie put her magazine down and smiled.

"Hey, Green Lightning," she said. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Hey Katie-kat."

Her gaze sobered. "It's been forever since you called me that."

Harry frowned. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You've got nothing to apologise for," Katie said stubbornly. "I should be apologising. I thought about it, and you were right. I ignored you just because people said I should. They said I shouldn't associate with troublemakers, and I didn't stop to ask if they were right. I just did what they told me to."

Katie looked down in shame. "I'm really sorry, Harry. I was a terrible friend. I hope you can forgive me."

Harry could only gape at her. He was pretty sure this was the first time he'd received such a sincere apology. She stared at him, confusion written all over her face. Her eyebrow quirked.

"Harry?"

"Uh, yeah," he stammered, unsure how to respond. "I forgive you. Honestly, it's all right. I should've told you and the others. I should've trusted you and the team."

Katie smiled brightly. "No more secrets?"

Harry nodded with an equally bright smile. "No more secrets."

Chapter Text

Chapter 10 – Good Things Go

Harry Potter chewed on his lip as he stared at the teetering pile of cards. In his hand, he held one with a picture of a wizard with a green chin. It pulsed, and he looked for the corresponding card on the table. He felt bad that his occlumency gave him an unfair advantage but didn't dwell on it too much as he tapped a card, which, when turned over, revealed a witch with a green hat. He put the matching cards together and carefully placed them atop the tower.

Katie scowled as she looked at her hand and picked up a card at random. The tower exploded, and Harry laughed as she blew soot from her face.

Alicia looked up from her book and snorted. "You're really not good at this, are you?"

"Shut up," Katie grumbled. "Harry's just freakishly good."

Harry flinched. He glanced around, hoping no one noticed.

"We can always play something else," Harry suggested.

"No, I'll beat you eventually," Katie huffed. "Go again?"

Harry shook his head. "I've got to talk to Flitwick about something before the feast."

"All right," Katie smirked at him. "I'll beat you next time, Potter."

"In your dreams, Bell," Harry smirked back.

A few minutes later, he found himself in the Charms Corridor. He knocked on Professor Flitwick's door.

"Come in," came the professor's voice. "Ah, Mr. Potter. How can I help you?"

"Oh, I wanted to speak to you about my exams. Do you know when I will be writing them?" Harry asked.

"Professor McGonagall and I will come to your home in the evening on the third of August."

"Sounds good," Harry nodded. "I'll try to be well prepared, Professor."

"I don't doubt it, Mr. Potter," Flitwick smiled. Harry opened his mouth to speak then closed it abruptly. The professor raised an eyebrow. "Is there something else I can do for you?"

"Yeah, Professor, I was wondering whether you could teach me how to fight – like you did against Quirrell," Harry said. Flitwick frowned.

"And why do you want to learn such a skill?"

"Professor, when you fought Quirrell, I just stood there uselessly," Harry said, shame clouding his face. "You got hurt because you had to protect me as well as yourself. I just don't want to be a liability."

"Mr. Potter, you are my student. It is my responsibility to protect you. You are not a liability," said the professor.

"But I could've helped," Harry pleaded. "For some reason, there are bad people after me – like Voldemort," Flitwick flinched slightly at the name. "I just want to be able to defend myself."

Flitwick appraised Harry with a glance. "All right, Mr. Potter, I will teach you how to duel. Remember that you must never use these skills to pick fights or harm those who do not deserve it. If I find that you've used my teachings for ill, I will be most strict with your punishment. Do you understand?" He looked at Harry sternly.

Harry nodded readily. "Understood, professor. I wouldn't use it to bully someone."

"I know you wouldn't," Flitwick smiled. "But unlike occlumency, teaching you to duel can and will be used to harm others. You are much like your mother, you know? She was a kind soul, Mr. Potter, but incredibly fierce. I only ask that you emulate her. Use your skills and abilities to protect, never to harm."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I understand, professor. I don't want to hurt anyone – not like Quirrell."

Flitwick smiled sadly as Harry turned over his palms. He could almost hear Quirrell's screams. There was a part of him that didn't want to ask Flitwick how to fight. But then he thought about Flitwick being thrown into the cabinet, and Harry having to watch as Quirrell kicked his stunned form.

No, Harry loathed himself for killing Quirrell, but he hated the helplessness more.

He refused to be a burden.

Professor Flitwick agreed to teach Harry in the new school year. He suggested Quidditch practice as a medium to get into better shape. He was overjoyed to hear that Wood made them do all the exercises together – apparently, some teams had the seeker laze off and only focus on speed training. Not his though; Oliver put him through strength and conditioning because 'it's good to be well rounded' and it's 'team bonding'. Harry had cursed his captain for that in the past, but it seemed Oliver's Quidditch mania would have transferable benefits.

Flitwick shooed Harry out of his classroom soon after, encouraging him to spend time with his classmates before the feast instead of 'slumming it out with a squeaky old man'. Flitwick's words, not his.

Harry considered returning to Gryffindor Tower and thrashing Katie at more exploding snap but decided against it when he saw twin shocks of red hair slip into an abandoned classroom. He followed the Weasley twins inside, watching as they brought a strange assortment of items out of pillowcases.

"What're you doing?" Harry leaned against the door. The twins jumped in place and turned around.

"Harry!" Fred exclaimed, shifting a worn piece of parchment out of sight. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw you two sneak in here," Harry said. "Are you planning a prank for the leaving feast?"

The twins glanced at each other nervously. "Not exactly."

Harry's eyes widened. "Are you planning the prank on Alicia?"

The guilty look exchanged between the identical redheads was confirmation enough.

"Can I help?" Harry asked.

"Harry, how much chocolate for you to keep quiet about – wait, what?" George blinked, and Fred looked at him, confused.

"You want to help?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "McGonagall told me once that my dad was a prankster when he went here. I wanted to try it for myself – I thought it'd make me feel closer to him. If you don't mind, of course," Harry added shyly.

The twins grinned at each other and threw an arm over his shoulders, not noticing the way he stiffened.

"Well, Harrikins, you know us," Fred said.

"We would never discourage someone embracing their inner prankster," George continued.

"Let us show you our greatest prank yet," Fred led him over to the table and overturned the black bag, spilling out an assortment of treats and a small chunk of gold the size of Harry's fingernail.

"Are you trying to give Alicia a sugar rush?" Harry asked confusedly. "Are you trying to tell her to go on a diet or something?"

Fred tutted. "You doubt our genius, Harrikins."

"Also, never tell a girl to go on a diet, o apprentice of ours," George said gravely. "That takes a level of daring even we don't have."

George emptied two vials into a small goblet, followed by the gold chip. He closed the goblet with a thick parchment and shook it like a bartender. He handed the goblet to Fred, who took a sip.

"Watch this," Fred grinned before touching a slice of chocolate cake. It turned to gold. Harry watched in awe as Fred pulled out his wand and cast a vanishing spell, which made the slice double in size. Fred picked up the gold slice and took a bite, and Harry winced as an audible clang rang through the classroom.

"This should work on everything at the feast," Fred explained. "It's not actual gold, just charmed to look like it. And a hardening charm that will make it feel like the real thing."

"That's brilliant," Harry grinned. "I didn't think you two knew magic like this."

"Did you think we were just pretty faces?" Fred asked, placing a hand over his heart in faux outrage.

"I didn't even give you that much credit," Harry said dryly. The twins cackled.

"Ooh I think we'll get along just fine," Fred ruffled Harry's hair, and he swatted it away on instinct. Suddenly, Harry wondered just what he'd gotten himself into.

"If he's going to be helping us, you should teach him the counter spell," George said from where he was fiddling with a cauldron.

Fred taught Harry the counter spell, and Harry tried it. He was rather proud of himself when the slice of cake turned back to its expected rich brown colour. Harry found it also tasted like cake again. He snacked on the rest of the slice while Fred drank a vial of the counter potion, whooping loudly when he touched a doughnut, and it didn't turn golden.

"We swap the pudding with gold, and whenever someone tries to do anything to it, poof, it becomes bigger," Fred explained with sweeping dramatic gestures.

"And, of course," George said, putting a stopper on a vial. "We find a way to slip this into Alicia's goblet."

He held up the vial containing a transparent liquid with the slightest yellow tint. "This will transform Alicia into Queen Midas."

"Queen what?" Harry asked. Fred and George gave him identical grins.

"You'll see."

The end-of-year feast was a raucous affair. After an exhausting year, Angelina Johnson was glad for the opportunity to spend time with her friends and relax.

She was wrapping up her third year at Hogwarts, which had somehow encompassed the Quidditch Cup, trolls, electives (she still had no idea why she chose to take ancient runes; that class was killing her), and a bloody professor kidnapping her teammate.

Angelina still had no idea what happened between Harry and Quirrell three weeks ago. Officially, McGonagall told the Gryffindors that Harry came down with a bad case of spattergroit and would be quarantined till he recovered. No one believed that for a second.

The Hogwarts rumour mill noticed Quirrell's absence and pounced on the seeming coincidence. When Harry woke up, he'd confirmed it to Alicia and Katie, who told her in turn. Alicia stressed that Harry had been badly affected by the experience, and under no circumstances was anyone to ask him about it. Angelina wasn't planning to ask anyway; she wasn't an idiot.

Then Alicia and Katie mentioned You-Know-Who, which had been a nasty surprise. She tried not to think about it too much though. If it were important, Alicia would've mentioned it.

Especially because she was certain that Alicia was the only student other than Harry who knew exactly what happened between him and Quirrell. Since Harry had woken up, the two of them had been inseparable. Angelina knew she'd joked about Alicia adopting Harry, but it had still surprised her when she saw just how older-sister-like Alicia was becoming.

It was very endearing.

Still, Angelina trusted her best friend to tell her if there was something she could help with.

The Great Hall was decked in blue and bronze when Angelina entered with Alicia and Katie. From winning the Quidditch Cup, Gryffindor gained sixty points and avoided last place in the House Cup standings. Still, it wasn't enough to prevent the nerds that made up Ravenclaw House from answering all the questions in class and winning out.

Angelina was a little disappointed, especially because she knew that if Harry and his friends hadn't lost them one-hundred-fifty points, they would be winning by a landslide. Still, she tried not to hold it against the younger boy (especially because she didn't want to get the same treatment Katie had received from Alicia). That didn't mean she wasn't a little disappointed, though.

The door opened, and Angelina looked up, seeing Harry slip into the hall with Ron and Hermione. A hush fell over the students as the three first-years entered.

"Do I have something on my face?" Ron stage whispered as they approached the Gryffindor table. Harry snickered and Hermione shook her head.

"Yeah, that ugly mug of yours," Harry chirped. Ron shoved the other boy, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

Alicia waved the first years over, and they sat down opposite the chasers. The mood was rather glum at the Gryffindor table, and the students nearest to them turned away when Harry and Hermione sat down. Katie patted Harry's arm. "Ignore them."

Harry smiled gratefully, and Alicia beamed at the two.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and silence fell over the hall as the students looked at him.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are all a little fuller than they were…you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts."

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points; in third, Gryffindor, with three hundred and seventy-two points; Slytherin, four hundred and twelve and Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty. Congratulations, Ravenclaw!"

It was kind of underwhelming the cheers that came from the Ravenclaw table. The students were never what could be called a raucous bunch, but the table was more withdrawn than even Angelina had expected. Dumbledore and the professors clapped, and the other houses joined in, albeit reluctantly.

Angelina saw Harry look at Draco Malfoy, who grinned smugly back at him. The blonde held up three fingers and pointed at Harry before pointing at himself while holding two fingers. The message rang loud and clear, and Harry scowled. The dull mood only lasted until food appeared on the tables, and Gryffindor table was in high spirits again as everyone ate and chatted away.

She chewed on a roast potato as she watched her friends around her. She'd always been rather loud and extroverted, but she enjoyed watching as much as she did participating. She watched with amusement as Hermione scolded Ron – again – for chewing with his mouth open. Harry watched distastefully before turning to her. The two exchanged a grin when Ron, who was somehow chewing and arguing simultaneously, swallowed some beans down the wrong pipe and began to choke. Angelina reached over and gave him a firm smack on the back, and the beans dislodged in his throat. She watched in a mixture of awe and disgust as the boy gave her a bashful grin and continued eating with even more fervour. Angelina wasn't exactly a light eater – her muscles didn't grow themselves, you know? – but the… prowess of the first year was astounding, to say the least.

Still watching Ron, Angelina reached for her goblet. She picked up the glass just as different puddings and other sweet treats replaced the dishes of roast meats and veg, gravies, and pies.

She reached over and grabbed a slice of key lime pie, not noticing Harry and the twins' panicked looks around her. She took a large swig of her pumpkin juice, only to be disappointed by the taste of water. That was when she realised she'd accidentally picked up Alicia's goblet.

"Oops," she said, reaching for her goblet instead. She still wasn't looking at her drink and didn't realise anything was wrong until she tipped it back, and a solid chunk of gold hit her in the nose.

She swore, rubbing her nose. She looked at the goblet, still in her hand, only to find it was now made of solid gold.

Alicia's spoon was halfway to her mouth as she stared at Angelina with a rapidly purpling face. She broke down into laughter, tears streaming down her face.

"What?" Angelina asked, confused. "What are you laughing at?"

A girl a couple of seats down handed Angelina a mirror and as she outstretched her arm to accept it, she realised her hands were also golden! And the sleeves of her robes were missing!

She grabbed the mirror hastily and looked at her reflection. Much like her hands, her face was a shiny gold, as was the rest of her. Instead of her school robes, she wore the most hideous dress she'd ever seen. It looked like something she'd seen in a book about ancient Greek wizards, except it too was made of gold.

Worse yet, she had a beard.

She touched her plate, and the soft, creamy key lime pie turned into hard, solid gold.

She laughed loudly, turning Alicia's ice cream and Harry's treacle tart into solid gold. They glared at her, and she smirked.

Taking a not-so-large leap in logic, she glared at the usual culprits. "As funny as this is, you two are dead, by the way."

Sitting halfway down the table, The Weasley twins were trying to look innocuous.

"In our defence," Fred put his hands up in surrender.

"That wasn't meant for you." George finished. They looked at Alicia in tandem, and the laughter vanished off her face.

"You were trying to do that to me?" Alicia gawked.

"Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say," Harry said sagely.

"Oh yeah, why don't you tell us what is, oh apprentice of ours?"

Harry blanched.

"Traitors…" he mumbled. Alicia's glare turned on him.

"You helped them?" She hissed. He grinned weakly.

"Surprise?"

"May I ask exactly what surprise you're referring to, Potter?" Professor McGonagall stood behind him with her lips pressed thin.

"Professor! Hello!" Harry squeaked, trying to look innocent. "What brings you here?"

"Imagine my surprise when I looked over at the Gryffindor table, only to see Ms. Johnson dressed like a golden statue," McGonagall's mouth was pressed so thin Angelina almost couldn't see it. "My first thought was to ask the two baboons over there –"

She gestured to the twins, who tried to look offended.

"But then I saw you looking particularly guilty, and I happen to remember the menace that was your father and his friends. So, I must ask again, what surprise are we referring to here?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Professor," Harry said brightly. McGonagall's eyes narrowed, but she turned to look at the rest of the table. She glanced at the chasers, who met her gaze pleasantly. Angelina was many things. Amused and somewhat embarrassed? Yes. A tattletale? No. Alicia seemed to feel the same, and Katie was still doubled over in laughter. Every time the girl would calm down, she'd take a cursory glance at Angelina and break into another fit of giggles.

Next to Harry, Ron and Hermione sat quietly. Ron looked very amused, and Hermione's gaze was rife with disapproval. Still, when McGonagall's gaze crossed her, the bushy-haired first year remained silent.

McGonagall turned to the twins, who weren't afforded the same privilege as Harry. It had taken only one glance from the stern professor to declare them guilty. After yelling at the twins and promising much retribution the following year, the professor returned to the staff table.

All that was left of the prank was Angelina and her gold skin and horrible, golden outfit. She tried to revert the stupid spell but gave up after the third try. She didn't even bother asking the twins – getting them to undo a prank prematurely was impossible. Flitwick stood up, about to come over and look over her conundrum but stopped in surprise. She looked down to see that she was wearing her uniform again.

Angelina reached out and stuck her finger in Alicia's new bowl of ice cream, ignoring her cry of protest. Nothing happened. She noticed Harry's wand slip back into his robes out of the corner of her eye. She looked at him, surprised.

"You weren't the intended target," he shrugged. "Plus, you didn't tell on me. I suppose I owe you for that?"

"So, you're telling me you wouldn't have done that for me?" Alicia snipped.

"Nope," Harry said, popping the 'p'. Alicia mumbled under her breath about traitors. Harry grinned wide. "Consider it payback for the 'Green Lightning business.'"

Katie, who'd stopped laughing when Angelina was turned back, dissolved into another fit of giggles. Harry glared at her, though there was no heat behind the gaze.

"Speaking of payback," Alicia looked at Angelina with a feral grin. "Angie, remember the clause on the immunity list for if the twins prank you?"

Angelina matched her best friend's expression as the colour drained from the twins' faces. "Of course, I do. When should we enact the… consequences?"

"Well, if we do it now, we won't really get to see the fruits of our labour," Alicia tapped her chin. "I say we wait till September."

Harry, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes, spoke. "Wait, if we're counting this as a prank on Angelina, then that means the twins are still allowed to prank you, 'Licia."

Alicia grimaced. "On second thought…"

"Hell no," Angelina said. "No way you're getting off scot-free off my suffering. Plus, I want revenge."

"But Angie…"

Angelina glared at her best friend, who pouted at her. The twins looked conflicted between excitement at the second opportunity to prank Alicia, and terror at the prospect of Angelina's revenge.

Harry just watched, snickering. He was delighted to let the twins take the brunt of the girls' ire, but that wasn't to be. Angelina turned to Harry and smirked, and his laughter stopped immediately.

"Don't think I've forgotten about you, speccy."

"I'm just a victim, Angelina," Harry batted his eyelashes at her innocently. "The twins coerced me, you know?"

"Bullshit."

"Worth a try," Harry shrugged, eliciting a snort from her. He grinned in response.

The rest of the feast passed enjoyably, with Angelina and Alicia loudly and unsubtly plotting revenge against the twins and Harry, who offered unhelpful suggestions.

Harry woke early the next morning. His stomach rolled at the thought of the school year coming to an end and returning to Little Whinging. He forced the thoughts out of his head, retreating into the Nothing. He relished in the serenity of the darkness before it was replaced by the glowing orbs of light that were his memories.

He parsed through them, one by one, as had become habit. The first memory he saw was that of the last Quidditch game. He watched himself catch the snitch, aided by his friends. Bludgers and players dressed in scarlet rocketed past his vision as he claimed the tiny, winged ball.

The next memory was earlier, from the Hospital wing. The door slid open, and Oliver entered, followed closely by Angelina.

"How've you been, speccy?" Angelina asked, plopping herself onto the visitor chair at his side. She kicked her feet up on the edge of his bed. Oliver rolled his eyes and sat on the floor, leaning against the neighbouring bed.

Harry shrugged. "Mostly better now; feeling more bored than anything, y'know?"

Oliver snorted. "Tell me about it, why Pomfrey thinks you're not well enough to play Quidditch, I don't know."

He glanced over his shoulder as if expecting the short-tempered nurse to stab him with a syringe from behind. Angelina swatted his shoulder half-heartedly.

"There are more important things than Quidditch, Oliver," Angelina droned. "Harry's health is more important.

Then she grinned and winked at Harry. "At least that's what Alicia told me to say."

Harry snickered. "I wish I could fly around a little. I've been doing nothing but homework all day."

Angelina tossed him something, and Harry caught it on instinct. It was the snitch she got him for Christmas. "I asked one of your roommates to get it for me. Figured you'd want something to do in here."

"Thanks, Angelina, this is brilliant."

They shared a grin.

"Catch!" Oliver tossed something at Harry, and he tried to catch it with one hand. It was bigger than he expected and ended up hitting him in the face.

"Ow," Harry rubbed his nose as Oliver snickered and Angelina elbowed the older boy in the ribs, eliciting a pained yelp.

Harry picked the quaffle off his lap and looked at Oliver, confused.

"Gotta keep your skills sharp," he smirked, gesturing at Harry to throw it back. Harry reared his arm back towards Oliver, then switched targets at the last minute toward Angelina. The chaser yelped as the ball flew towards her, only to laugh as it fell short.

"No wonder you aren't a chaser," Angelina snickered, picking up the ball, and no-look passed it to Oliver, who caught it deftly. The three Gryffindor messed around for a little longer until Madam Pomfrey caught them and kicked the two visitors out.

Harry filed the memory away, watching it float and join some of the other happy memories, fizzling beams of light linking it to the others of its kind. Another memory took its place, and once again, Harry found himself in the Hospital wing, this time with Alicia, Angelina, and Katie.

Memory-Harry watched with a smile as the chasers babbled on about the latest rumour.

"And so, the entire school thinks that Snape slipped poison into your drink and then tried to save you because he felt bad," Angelina said.

"Don't forget why he saved Harry," Katie piped up. Alicia snickered.

"As the rumour mill says it," Alicia waved her hands and spoke in an exaggeratedly spooky voice best suited for a campfire. It didn't have the same effect in the well-lit Hospital wing. "Snape was in love with your mum when he was a kid -"

"WHAT?" Harry looked genuinely nauseous, and Alicia doubled over in laughter. She resurfaced after a minute, wiping tears off her face.

"And - and he hates you because she rejected him for your pops," Alicia finished, grinning.

"I'm going to throw up," said Harry, who'd turned a shade of green he didn't know was humanly possible.

"You should've seen his face when McLaggen, the bloody idiot, asked him in potions the other day," Katie said hesitantly. She seemed to gain confidence when Harry looked at her, something he'd largely avoided doing lately.

"Snape turned so pale; I thought he would kill McLaggen. He got detention so fast," she grinned weakly at him, smiling wider when he laughed.

"That is disgusting," Harry wrinkled his nose. "But if he's supposed to hate me, why'd he try to save me?"

"Apparently, he realised he couldn't live with himself if he let you die just like your mum," Alicia grimaced. "Though I don't know if Snape is capable of such a thing as remorse."

Harry snorted. "Fat chance."

With that, the memory ended, and the Hospital Wing rippled into the Nothing. The final memory Harry sorted through was the first morning after he woke up. He watched as he recoiled from Alicia and Katie. He felt a warmth grow in his chest as he watched Alicia hold his hand and hug him. He stamped it down hurriedly, lest he be evicted from the Nothing. He watched the two chasers reassure him, and Alicia hold him as he cried. The warmth grew in his chest.

"It wasn't your fault," said Alicia in the memory.

Harry's eyes shot open to the roof of his four-poster bed. The warmth in his chest dissipated as he breathed, leaving only the most curious, unfamiliar sensation. Contentment.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so cared for. So wanted.

His attempts to return to the Nothing were futile. He was too emotionally charged at that moment. He closed his eyes and tried to return to bed. His mind didn't drift to sleep, but his thoughts inevitably returned to his impending return to the muggle world.

Once again, his thoughts settled on the Dursleys. How would they react to his return? After all, the last time he'd seen them they'd evacuated Number 4 Privet Drive because of the sheer number of letters Hogwarts had sent them.

Harry winced as he imagined the Dursleys' displeasure that they were bound to take out on him.

The Dursleys never abused Harry.

They starved him, locked him in his cupboard without any sunlight for days at a time, forced him to cook and clean and do every other chore (sometimes he wasn't even allowed to eat the meal he'd prepared), and berated and disparaged him every chance they got. Thankfully, they never beat him beyond the odd smack whenever he talked back.

But they never abused him.

Because those who were abused were undeserving victims. As the Dursleys were so fond of reminding him, Harry deserved everything he got.

They only starved him when he burnt their meals; only locked him away when he embarrassed them in front of others; only berated and called him a waste of space whenever he had the gall to 'cheat' and do better than precious Dudley on a test.

They only mistreated him when he messed up. It was a punishment. A teaching moment. Not abuse.

At least that was what they told him.

Most importantly, it was always his fault. His parents' death, his being left on the Dursleys' doorstep, and every fickle little misfortune in the Dursleys' lives. Somehow, it was always his fault.

At some point, he began to believe them.

Everything he touched turned to stone. Everyone he cared about would leave. Why wouldn't they, when they realised what he was?

When they realised he was a freak.

That was one of Uncle Vernon's favourite names to call Harry.

Until he'd begun going to primary school, that moniker, and 'boy' from Aunt Petunia, were the only names he'd ever known.

The first time he'd ever been called Harry was on his first day of primary school when the teacher called his name for attendance. He hadn't responded to the roll call and was called to the principal's office. He'd gotten a week of cupboard time for that embarrassment.

The shadow of the Dursleys followed him around Little Whinging. Whether that was Dudley scaring off every child who dared befriend Harry or his aunt spreading rumours about her disturbed young nephew whom she was so kind and selfless for taking in. When he got the chance to leave it all behind, he didn't think twice before taking it.

At Hogwarts, he thought things would be different. And they were, for the most part. The Dursleys had blamed his latent magic for every bad thing to ever happen to them, but surely his fellow wizards, with magic of their own, would be different. Right?

After the Astronomy Tower incident, he'd been terrified he was wrong. After his housemates turned on him and even Katie stopped talking to him, Harry thought that the Dursleys really were right. Maybe everything he touched was bound for ruin. Maybe it was his fault after all. But people had stuck with him. Ron, Hermione, Oliver, Angelina, the Twins. Alicia.

When Katie abandoned him, Harry didn't blame her. He never blamed her. He was aloof with her to protect himself, but in his mind, it was his fault. It was always his fault. Then, after the Quirrell business, Alicia said something that had turned his world upside down. Something that, in eleven years of misery, he'd never heard before.

She told him it wasn't his fault.

It happened so fast that he hadn't taken it for what it meant. That night, when he was sorting through the memories, it truly hit him. Watching her and Katie come in and see him. The plain, unabashed relief on their faces. Alicia's complete faith that he wouldn't hurt her. Much like earlier that morning, Harry couldn't fully process that memory. The warmth in his chest had kicked him out that time, too. He wondered if he'd ever be able to rewatch that memory without being kicked out of the Nothing. He hoped not.

At times he couldn't believe that, despite being but a burden to his relatives, there were people out there who cared for him. He took solace in the memories from the hospital wing. He took solace in the enormous slice of treacle tart that Ron had brought him from dinner, and all the time Hermione took out of her day to come and help him catch up on schoolwork.

He drew strength from the team. Their regular visits – tossing the Quaffle around with Oliver and swapping stories with the chasers – were reminders that the Dursleys had been wrong.

It only got better when he left the Hospital wing. For the first time, Harry had more friends than he knew what to do with. Those last few days between the Quidditch final and the end-of-the-year feast were the best of his life, despite still being a pariah to the rest of his house. He was happy, healthy, safe, and with his friends. He'd forgotten it had to end until he was lying in bed after the feast.

Harry got up and dressed, trying to ignore the feeling of impending doom in his gut. Ron was still fast asleep, and a glance at Neville's clock showed it was still far too early for the other boy to be awake. Heading down to the common room showed that Hermione too was still asleep. A glance out the window showed Hagrid in front of his hut, tending to his roosters.

Harry decided to visit his first friend who had introduced him to this incredible world. A world that he could still hardly believe he was a part of.

A few minutes later, Harry waved to Hagrid, who waved back enthusiastically. "Harry! it's good ter see yeh, how've yeh bin?"

"All right, Hagrid," Harry beamed. "You?"

"Good, good," Hagrid sobered, and his dark eyes glinted with concern. "Feelin' alrigh' after all tha' Quirrell business? Blimey, when I heard yeh was in the hospital wing, I was worried sick."

"I'm doing better, Hagrid. Sorry, I worried you," Harry shrugged. He really didn't want to talk about Quirrell right now. "D'you need help with that?"

He gestured to the bag of Rooster feed in Hagrid's hands. Hagrid appraised him speculatively.

"Not really, but yeh can help if yeh wan'. 'Ere," Hagrid tossed a second bag to Harry, who caught it deftly.

The giant of a man and the tiny first year tossed food to the roosters in silence. Hagrid made an unsettling noise. "Summat eating at yeh, Harry?"

Harry frowned. It was a little embarrassing.

"Don't wan' ter go home?" Hagrid smiled knowingly at Harry, who flushed.

"How'd you know?"

"I've met your relatives, 'member? Ruddy vile, the lot of 'em," Hagrid shook his head sadly. "'S alrigh'. Summer will be gone like that, y'know? jus gotta tough it out for a little while an' 'fore yeh know it, you'll be back on the express."

The large man patted Harry on the back with hands the size of dustbin lids. Harry nearly buckled under the force.

"I guess I'll just miss Hogwarts," Harry tossed a handful of seeds at a cluster of roosters on the far left of the pen. He watched them scramble after the feed, shoving each other out of the way in pursuit of the food, despite the abundance in his hands. "After having magic and friends and everything, I just don't want to go back."

"Hogwarts will always be yer home, Harry. You'll be back 'ere quick," Hagrid said gently. "'Sides, yeh can always write yer friends, yeh know? Bes' believe they'll wan' ter hear from yeh. So will I."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry smiled weakly. "I'll make sure to write."

"Yeh better," Hagrid wagged his finger, which would've been threatening if not for the broad grin on his face.

Harry's smile was a bit stronger.

"Also, 'fore I forget," Hagrid ambled into his cabin, coming out with a leather-bound book. "I wrote a couple of yer parents' school friends. Asked 'em for old pictures and the like."

He handed Harry the book nervously. "Couple of 'em wrote back, so I put 'em together for yeh."

Harry accepted the book with shaking hands, holding it as if it were something sacred – which to him, it was.

He flipped it open and had to bite back a sob at the sight that greeted him. Carefully stuck to the first page was a picture of James and Lily Potter. They stood in the middle of a courtyard that Harry didn't recognise, dancing to some music he couldn't hear. His father looked exactly as he had in the Mirror of Erised, with the same thin face, sharp nose and wild, black hair that Harry also inherited.

He smiled at Harry, holding his wife, Harry's mum, in his arms as they swayed slowly to a silent rhythm. Lily looked almost exactly like what he'd seen in the mirror. The vibrant red hair and the striking green eyes that Harry also shared. She looked a little different than when he saw her at the Palace of Light – her cheekbones were a little softer, and her stance was a little springier – but that could be chalked up to age. She smiled and waved at Harry, who bit his tongue hard to hold in the flooding emotion.

He had no words to say, but Hagrid seemed to understand.

Harry said his goodbyes soon after, heading back to the castle for breakfast. Breakfast was a hasty affair. Most of the students in the hall grabbed a sandwich before returning to their dorms to finish packing. Ron grabbed two slices of toast, spread jam on one of them, and sprinted back up the stairs.

Harry was one of the few who had packed the night before, so he spent the last few hours in the castle in the common room with Hermione, Parvati Patil, and Dean Thomas. Parvati, Hermione, and Dean were exchanging stories about summer plans. Parvati was telling them about the annual vacation her family took to India to visit their cousins.

"This time, Masi said she'd take me to the market and get me a new shalwar kameez," Parvati gushed.

"That's a type of dress." The girl added, noticing the looks of confusion.

The boys exchanged looks of exasperation while Hermione excitedly asked about the dress, which Parvati looked ecstatic to talk about.

"What about you, Harry?" Dean asked. "Doing anything fun, mate?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "No… just staying inside. My aunt and uncle don't really take me outside much."

Dean shrugged and looked away, and Harry let out a breath of relief. He didn't notice Hermione's inquisitive look as he glanced up at the clock above the mantle.

Soon after, the students were packed and boarding the Hogwarts Express, which would take them back to London. Harry, Ron, and Hermione found a compartment together. They found Neville searching for a place to sit, and Harry convinced the pudgy boy to join them. Harry still felt a little guilty over causing Neville to lose all those points. While Gryffindor was quick to forget his and Hermione's transgressions in favour of mocking Harry, the first few days had still been rough for him.

"All right there, Nev?" Harry asked as the boys shoved their trunks overhead. Hermione thanked Harry and Ron for stowing hers on her behalf.

"Not too bad, Harry," Neville shrugged meekly. "At least exams are over, right? That's a good thing, surely."

Ron snorted. "I'd agree with you, but I don't think Hermione will. If she could, I think she'd take the exams again for fun."

Hermione swatted Ron on the arm.

"No, I wouldn't," she said indignantly. Ron looked at her dubiously, and Harry only smirked when she turned to him for support. "Fine, I would, but only because I might be able to get better marks."

Ron snickered, and Harry failed to suppress a grin. Neville smiled hesitantly, and even Hermione had a bashful smile as silence settled over the cabin. Hermione had her nose in a book, and Ron and Neville were chatting away over a league Quidditch game that Harry knew nothing about. He pretended to listen, watching the Scottish Highlands fly past them.

He wished he could force the train to slow down. London seemed to be nearing faster than he'd like.

"You'll both write, won't you?" Hermione looked at Harry and Ron nervously.

Harry nodded emphatically, and Ron mimicked him, albeit at a more sedate pace.

"Definitely," said Harry. "How will you write, though, without an owl?"

"Muggle mail, perhaps?" Hermione frowned. "What's your relatives' address?"

Harry wrote it down on a piece of parchment, and Hermione tucked it into her pocket.

"My family owl, Errol; I'll get him to come see you first so you can give him Harry's letters," Ron added. Hermione beamed at him.

The sweets trolley passed them, and Harry jumped at the last opportunity to have wizarding candy, quite literally jumping out of his seat and sliding open the cabin door.

Harry purchased a handful of chocolate frogs for himself and Ron, a large slab of chocolate for Hermione, and picked out a handful of cauldron cakes after deciding they seemed Neville's type. He then threw a pack of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum on top for good measure.

"My, that's quite the selection," Harry heard behind him as he was counting out the coins.

"Oh, hi Alicia," Harry said, turning around after exchanging the money for the bag of sweets.

She leaned against the compartment, dressed in muggle clothes (jeans and a lavender sweater) and her red bandanna. The broomstick pin glinted in the fluorescent lighting.

"You buying sweets for an entire army?" She raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the bag in his hands.

Harry grinned. "No, just Ron."

"Same thing," Alicia snickered. "By the way, you should stop by our cabin later. Katie and Angie are in there, and they're very cross you didn't say goodbye. So am I, for that matter."

She crossed her arms and glared at him menacingly, though her eyes danced with mirth.

"Sorry, I'll stop by later," Harry promised.

Alicia pointed down the way Harry came. "We're down that way, two carriages down."

Harry nodded before returning to his friends.

"I come bearing gifts!" He announced dramatically, dropping the bag right onto Ron's lap. "Actually, no give that back you'll eat everything."

He gave the bag to Neville. "Here Nev, you're the only one I can trust."

"What about me?" Hermione asked indignantly as Harry sat down next to her.

"You wouldn't let anyone eat anything," Ron said.

"Your teeth will rot if you eat all that sugar," Harry teased in a high-pitched voice.

"I do not sound like that," Hermione said, outraged.

"Yes, you do," Harry laughed.

"Do not," Hermione insisted.

"Do too."

Hermione made to jokingly whack Harry with her book.

Harry flinched hard, backing himself against the wall with his arms over his head.

Hermione froze with the book raised. She lowered it to her lap and watched Harry with horror. He lowered his arms awkwardly and looked at Ron and Neville, who were looking at him with equal parts confusion and concern.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. He took the slab of chocolate from his bag and gave it to Hermione.

"Got you this," he said without meeting her gaze. "Thanks for the notes."

"You're welcome, Harry. Thanks for the chocolate, it's my favourite," she said distractedly. She gave him a calculating look.

"There's chocolate frogs in there for you, Ron. Neville, I didn't know what you liked, so I got you some cauldron cakes," Harry said dully. "I'm going to use the loo; be right back."

The door slid shut behind him as he stepped into the hallway.

He cursed himself as he leaned against the wall. When Hermione raised the book, his reaction had been pure instinct. For a moment, he'd been back in the kitchen of Number 4 Privet Drive, cowering on the floor as Aunt Petunia threw a skillet at his head.

He reminded himself this wasn't Petunia. This was Hermione.

He knew she wouldn't hurt him. She was his friend—one of the very best.

Did you see her face? Whispered that traitorous voice in his ear. Things had been going so well lately that he hadn't heard it in a while. She might not have intended to hurt you, but you certainly hurt her. Some friend you are.

Harry gritted his teeth and forced his feet to move. He walked down the train aimlessly. He just needed to get away. He knew Hermione. The moment he returned to their compartment, he'd be interrogated until he gave her a satisfactory answer. And Harry knew nothing but the truth would satisfy her.

"Harry!" Katie's head peeked out of a compartment and waved to him. "Where are you going?"

"Just walking," Harry said blandly. Katie frowned, and the traitorous voice laughed in his head.

Add another to the tally, Potter.

"Want to sit with me, Angie, and 'Licia for a bit?" She asked hesitantly. Harry nodded and followed her into the compartment.

"Hey, Speccy," Angelina grinned at him. He waved back, rolling his eyes as the ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

"You all right, Harry?" Alicia looked at him concernedly. Harry nodded but Alicia didn't look convinced. He shook his head imperceptibly, and she relented, though she watched him with narrowed eyes.

He dropped into the seat opposite Alicia and Angelina, next to Katie. He turned to the youngest girl, who also looked at him oddly.

"Exploding Snap?" He asked, and a cocky grin appeared on her face.

"D'you even have to ask?" Katie smirked. "This is my turn to win; I can feel it."

Harry laughed and felt some of his tension dissipate with the sound. "Keep dreaming, Bell."

Exploding snap went as expected. He won – a lot. Katie won once, though she chewed him out thoroughly when she realised he let her win.

After growing tired of the card game, the quartet spoke of summer plans. Much like the conversation with his fellow first years, Harry stayed silent. He listened, pushing out the creeping envy as Angelina described the Quidditch match her parents were taking her and her little brothers. Katie said she would probably just sleep in and spend time with her dad.

From the way she spoke of her dad, Harry could tell they were close. He wondered if, in another life, he would've been bragging about his father to someone else.

An ugly feeling unfurled in his chest that corroded away at Harry's good mood.

If the girls noticed Harry's silence, they didn't mention it.

Katie made the rest of the compartment promise to write, though Harry didn't need much convincing. The other girls had to be badgered into it, though Harry thought they were just being contrary for the sake of it. Still, it filled him with hope. Maybe the summer wouldn't be so bad after all.

Returning to his compartment nearly two hours later, Harry found Neville and Ron in an intense negotiation for chocolate frog cards.

"I'll trade you two Morganas if you throw a Baruffio on top," Ron offered. Nevile snorted.

"No chance, mate. My Antioch Peverell has gold foil. That's worth so much more than two Morganas, even without Baruffio."

Hermione was curled up in the corner Harry had vacated, reading the book on famous Muggleborns he got her for Christmas. She looked up when he entered.

"Did you lot leave me anything?" Harry asked as he sat down next to her.

"Ron ate most of it; I saved you a chocolate frog though," Hermione pulled one out of her pocket, and he took it from her graciously.

"Thanks," he said, already tearing open the wrapper. She looked at him oddly, and Harry chewed on the smooth chocolate, trying to ignore the ball of lead in his stomach.

"Harry, are you okay?" She asked softly. Harry stiffened.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" He said lightly, giving her a strained smile. "I'm all right, Hermione. Ignore what happened earlier – It was nothing."

She didn't look convinced but let the topic lie. She tossed him a pack of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum.

"This was all I managed to save from those two," she jerked her head at the other two boys who were engrossed in their conversation. "I remembered you liked them."

"Thanks, 'Mione, you're a lifesaver," he stowed it in his pocket. The last bits of tension seemed to break, and the two friends slipped into easy conversation. Easy for Hermione at least – as much as Harry wanted to do well on exams, he didn't think talking about them on his first day of break was ideal conversation.

Before long, the train pulled to a stop, and Harry felt the familiar weight settle in his chest. He dragged his feet as he followed Ron, Hermione, and Neville off the train. His friends were positively shaking with the anticipation of seeing their families. Harry only felt dread.

How he wished to be back at Hogwarts.

They ran into the chasers on the platform. Alicia walked up to him from behind and ruffled his hair. He glared at her, but she only returned an unrepentant grin.

"Our families will be waiting by the floo, I reckon," she said. Harry wondered what a floo was. "Just thought I'd come over and say goodbye."

"D'you think your relatives will let you come over for pickup Quidditch?" Katie asked. Harry shook his head. She frowned. "Drat. I'll see you in September, then. You better write, Green Lightning."

"Only if you stop calling me that, Katie-kat," Harry grinned.

"I hate you," Katie grumbled, still smiling.

"No, you don't," Harry said dutifully.

"You sure about that?" she shot back before turning and leaving. Harry rolled his eyes and looked at Alicia and Angelina, who were watching the exchange with amusement.

"Have a good summer, you two," Harry smiled despite the churning in his gut. Angelina waved, and Alicia pulled Harry into a hug.

"You'll write, won't you?" Harry mumbled into her shoulder as he returned her embrace.

"You sound like Katie," she smirked at him. "Of course, I will. At least twice a week."

Harry nodded, and his inner turmoil must've shown on his face because she looked at him curiously.

"Harry, are you sure everything's okay?" She asked.

He nodded and swallowed thickly. He gave her the strongest smile he could muster. "Yeah, everything's fine. I'll see you in September?"

"See you in September," she said, giving him one last worried look before heading in the same direction as the other chasers.

Harry turned back to Hermione and Ron, who told him Neville's grandmother whisked him away already. The trio headed for the muggle exit, where they found the Weasleys waiting. The twins and Percy had already joined their family and waited impatiently for Ron.

"Well, if it isn't our newest accomplice," Fred said, slinging an arm over Harry's shoulder.

"It's nice to see you, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley patted his hand. She turned and glared at the twins. "And you two, you better not have roped him into any of your harebrained schemes."

"Mother, you wound us," George said dramatically, ruffling Harry's hair and earning a swat from the younger boy.

"We don't rope anyone into anything," Fred said seriously.

"Harry volunteered!" George finished cheerily.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head, exasperated. She made her boys say their goodbyes before turning off around a corner. It was just Harry and Hermione, and the latter caught sight of her mum.

Hermione squealed as she ran off to hug her mother. Looking at the older woman, Harry imagined he could predict what Hermione would look like in twenty-odd years. The two Grangers shared the same bushy hair and the same intelligence behind their brown eyes.

"Your father is keeping an eye on the clinic, but he says he's sorry he couldn't come get you himself," Mrs. Granger winked. "We had a bet, and I won. He said he'll get Indian for dinner tonight to celebrate."

"Awesome," Hermione grinned before remembering Harry's existence. "Oh, mum, this is Harry. Harry, this is my mum."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Harry said politely, shaking the older woman's hand.

"None of that, love," Mrs. Granger laughed. "Mrs. Granger is fine."

Harry nodded hesitantly.

"Now, where are your parents? Running late?" She asked kindly, and Hermione blanched. She angrily whispered something into her mother's ear, and the older woman winced. "Sorry, Hermione mentioned… I forgot. I really am sorry."

"It's all right. I'm used to it," Harry shrugged. While there was a slight pang at the mention of his dead parents, he was more surprised at the sight of an adult being not only chastised by their child but also sincerely apologising to him because of it. He'd heard Aunt Petunia apologise to Dudley before, but he'd always felt she was placating him rather than being sincere.

Speak of the devil. He caught a glimpse (not like it was difficult) of his relatives, entering from the parking lot that Mrs. Granger had come from.

Uncle Vernon stood at the entrance, staring suspiciously at every passerby, expecting them to turn around and turn him into a pig. Next to the unpleasant, rotund man stood Aunt Petunia, who peered down at her surroundings with the distinct expression of someone smelling manure. Dudley, the fat lard, just looked bored out of his mind.

All three Dursleys caught sight of Harry, but before he could slip away from the Grangers, Hermione saw them glaring at him.

"Are those your relatives?"

Harry winced but nodded. She frowned. Still, he made his way over to them, dejectedly noticing the Grangers walking in the same direction.

Aunt Petunia greeted him stiffly, and Uncle Vernon glared suspiciously at Mrs. Granger. Hermione's mother looked a little uncomfortable under his gaze. Still, her English politeness won over.

"Olivia Granger," the woman said mechanically, extending her hand to Vernon. "Pleasure."

Her tone, oddly reminiscent of Hermione's when she'd first met Ron, suggested it was anything but. Vernon didn't reciprocate the gesture, staring distastefully at her hand. Instead, he said, "You dress rather normal for one of his kind."

He nodded vehemently in Harry's direction. He winced, watching the two adults stare each other down with trepidation. Hermione watched the exchange with unconcealed shock.

"I'm not magical if that's what you mean. I'm a dentist," Mrs. Granger hissed. "My daughter Hermione is, and so is your – nephew?"

She looked at Harry for confirmation, who nodded reluctantly. "So is your nephew, yes? He seems quite nice."

"He's a freak that's what he is," Uncle Vernon nearly yelled, spittle flying out of his rapidly purpling face. Harry flinched, and Mrs. Granger's jaw clenched at the sight.

"Excuse me?"

"Vernon, we must be leaving," Aunt Petunia simpered, steering her husband away from the other woman before the situation devolved further. "Dudders will be late for that program he wanted to watch. It was a pleasure to meet you, Olivia."

Aunt Petunia nodded stiffly at Mrs. Granger, and Harry got the distinct impression that neither party felt that way. Petunia steered her family (and Harry) away from the Grangers, piling them into the car.

To Harry's surprise, Petunia made Vernon help him pile his trunk into the boot. He sat pressed up against the window, trying his hardest to ignore the other three people in the car. If he closed his eyes and retreated into the Nothing, he could almost imagine he was back at Hogwarts in the Gryffindor common room, joking around with Ron, Hermione, Alicia, and Katie. He could almost hear their laughter.

But he didn't dare escape. Trying to escape never helped in the past, and he doubted that would change.

Harry was going back to the Dursleys, and nothing could change that. Save for Hedwig, he was completely, totally alone.

Well, not really.

His friends promised to write.

If nothing else, he would trust them. He would trust Ron and Hermione, Alicia and Katie. He would trust those who stayed.

With low spirits and high hopes, Harry closed his eyes against the cool window of the Dursleys' car and began counting down the days till the first of September.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11 – Letters, or lack thereof

Objectively speaking, Harry was having the best summer of his life (though that was likely because the bar was all the way in hell). After the initial encounter with the Grangers, the Dursleys had been rather wary of Harry and had stayed out of his way. He chalked it up to fear that he would turn them into pigs.

Harry wouldn't be the one to tell them that he wasn't allowed to do magic outside Hogwarts.

He did his chores and stayed out of their sight. As soon as he was done, he left the house and wandered the streets of Little Whinging, making sure only to get back before dusk. His exploration was only possible because Dudley had been forbidden from speaking to Harry outside, lest he get a pig's tail again.

He had more freedom now than at any other point in his life. Then why was he so miserable?

The moment they returned from the station, Uncle Vernon locked Harry's things in his childhood bedroom: the cupboard under the stairs. He wondered whether his Hogwarts professors would penalise him for not completing his homework. He didn't fancy explaining that his aunt and uncle locked away his things to avoid contaminating their house with his 'freakishness'. He also dreaded Oliver's reaction to finding out he hadn't flown all summer. Would Oliver kick him off the team for poor performance? What if he was the reason they couldn't win again?

No, Harry wasn't any freer than he'd been in the past. He was equally as trapped. The only difference was that he'd tasted freedom. He'd tasted friendship and full stomachs and finally belonging. In the past, he'd had nothing. Now, he finally had something for the Dursleys to take away. And it hurt so much worse when they did.

Even worse, it was the day before his birthday, and he was to have his last lesson with his mother. Unable to do homework or practice Quidditch, Harry had thrown himself into his studies with his mum. Her impending departure made his mood so much worse.

He sat at his writing desk, waiting for the sun to set. The sooner he went to sleep, the sooner he could see his mother. The fact that it would be for the last time was forced out of his mind.

His owl, Hedwig, sat in her cage atop a desk, looked at him indignantly.

"I know, I know, girl," he tried to coax her into eating a cold, stale piece of chicken. "You haven't left your cage in weeks, and the food tastes terrible. I get it, but it's all we've got. Just a bit over a month left, and then we'll be back at Hogwarts."

He wasn't sure who he was convincing, Hedwig or himself.

That piece of chicken was from a tin of cold chicken soup, which, along with a singular slice of stale bread, made up his meal for the day. He found that after eating till he was full at Hogwarts, coming back and surviving off these meagre portions had become much harder. Still, he wouldn't let Hedwig starve and set aside some meat for her before he ate.

"What do you think happened, Hedwig?" Harry asked his owl, stroking her feathers. "Why hasn't anyone written yet?"

Harry hadn't received any communication from his friends all summer.

He felt betrayed. He was angry and couldn't figure out what he'd done wrong. Was it his reaction to Hermione playfully hitting him that had scared her off? Then what about Alicia and Katie?

How he wished he could reach out himself, but Hedwig was indisposed. At least he'd been allowed to keep her in his room, albeit locked in her cage. She was his only companion in this little pocket of hell.

The owl squawked at him indignantly.

"I'm not saying it's your fault," he rolled his eyes. "I know you're just as trapped as I am – even more so, actually. I just don't know how to feel about it."

She rubbed her head against his hand, and he smiled. "At least I've got you here. I think I'd be going mental without you."

Some people would already consider him mental for conversing with an owl. He didn't voice that thought because he liked having fingers.

He eventually gave up on feeding Hedwig, and slid the window open, suppressing a shiver. He slipped into bed and pulled his ratty sheets over himself. He entered the Nothing, as had become customary over the past few weeks. Instead of sorting through new memories, he went through his old ones. He had no interest in reliving the misery of the Dursleys immediately after living it for real.

He'd gotten to the point in his occlumency that he could retain a semblance of consciousness. While strong emotions still kicked him out, he could think enough to pick, choose, and view his sorted memories.

A memory of the Quidditch Pitch replaced the dark void. Harry zipped through the air on his broom, lazily chasing after Ron, who'd managed to finagle Fred's Cleansweep.

"Give it back!" He yelled over the wind, laughter cutting through his words. "That book is super rare; I don't want it to get damaged!"

Ron shook his head. "No way, mate. You've had your nose in this book for too long – you're turning into Hermione!"

"You take that back!" Harry said, turning after the red-haired boy.

"You should be glad to be compared to me!" Hermione yelled from the stands, sitting with a stack of toast and a book. She watched the boys' antics with fond exasperation. "You two certainly don't seem to mind when you need me to help you do your homework."

"Yeah, you're the best, Hermione," Harry gave her a thumbs up. He gasped exaggeratedly when she returned an obscene gesture. "The prim and proper Hermione Granger, flipping us the bird. Preposterous!"

"I think we've been a bad influence on her, mate," Ron grinned at her, who rolled her eyes. "Also, what's pre-post-us mean?"

"Dunno," Harry shrugged. "I heard Alicia say it once. Sounded cool."

Hermione facepalmed. "If something is preposterous, that means it's ridiculous or lacking common sense. Sounds like two people I know."

"You wouldn't be talking about us, would you, Hermione?" Harry said with faux outrage. "Because Ron and I have an excess of common sense, I'll have you know."

"I think I'm the smartest person I know," Ron said with exaggerated swagger.

"You must not know many people then," Harry deadpanned, and the redhead glared.

"Traitor!"

"Never said I was on your side, book thief," Harry waggled his eyebrows. He caught up to his best mate and wrestled the book out of his hands. "Now, gimme that."

Harry landed directly in the stands next to Hermione, his book clutched in hand. He flipped through it, searching for signs of damage, as Ron landed near him.

"We're done with exams; what are you still studying for?" Ron whined, sitting next to Hermione and stealing a slice of toast off her stack.

"You have been writing in that book a lot, Harry," Hermione agreed. "What is it about?"

Harry sighed. The book in question was the closest thing he had to a Sensomagy manual. It was a compendium of notes from every lesson his mother had given him, plus what little he had gleaned from the books in the restricted section.

"Just some extra work I'm doing for Flitwick," Harry lied.

"May I see?" Hermione asked and he shook his head.

"Not yet, maybe when it's done," he smiled apologetically, and Hermione frowned but thankfully let it lie.

Ron, however, grabbed the notebook and flipped through it. "What's mage sight?"

Harry ripped the notebook out of his hands. "Nothing," he said hurriedly.

Hermione opened her mouth before thinking better of it. Harry groaned internally, knowing that look in her eye. It was the look that meant she would spend the last few days at Hogwarts scouring the library for that name.

The memory ended with the trio trudging back to the castle in silence.

In the Nothing, Harry frowned as he watched the memory. Was his secret causing a rift between him and his friends? He could always tell them. It wasn't a matter of trust.

He trusted them implicitly, or at least he had before they went radio silent. He wasn't sure what to think now. But trust wasn't the reason he kept his mage sight from everyone save Alicia. The only reason he even told Alicia was because she caught him in the act. Mage sight was the only thing that was his alone, and he wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

But if it was driving a wedge between him and his friends…

No more secrets.

The next memory played. It was the morning after he'd discovered that Quirrell was the broom-jinxer. He watched himself run into Oliver in the common room. He watched himself tickle the portrait and enter the kitchens. He watched Floppy introduce herself again. The mouthwatering sight of the pancakes had him snapping out of the Nothing, feeling extra hungry.

He closed his eyes and willed sleep to take him and help him escape his misery. Quickly enough, his body obliged.

He awoke to the now familiar sight of his chambers in the Palace of Light. He massaged the crick in his neck as he walked the hallway to the training room. Lily was waiting for him, sitting under the gazebo still reading that same book as before.

"Hello, Harry," she smiled as he approached. He sat down next to her, and she hugged him to her side. After a month of forced solitude, Harry didn't even mind the cold, silky feeling of her touch and leaned into her.

Harry mumbled an unintelligible greeting.

"I see you're in a bad mood today," she chuckled. "Going to miss your mother?"

"Yes," he mumbled into her shoulder.

She hugged him a little tighter.

"It isn't goodbye, merely see you later," she reminded him. "But I will expect you to join me only after a long life. You've got a lot to accomplish, Chosen."

He nodded with a frown.

"Just see you later," he repeated, and she nodded with a sad smile. "I'll miss you."

"And I will miss you too, child," she said. "But it is not time for goodbyes just yet. We still have a few hours left, so let us make the most of it."

She stood and waved her hand, causing the comfortable chairs under the gazebo to be replaced by yoga mats and a desk with an array of feathers. Drapes covered the gazebo in relative darkness. Floating candles illuminated the makeshift tent.

"Let us see how far you have come, Harry," Lily smiled. "First, let us see if you can identify the magic on these feathers."

She moved over and physically picked up three feathers and separated them from the rest.

Harry reached and touched the first feather. His magic left his fingertip and intermingled with the feather's magic. Images and words flashed across his mind. An image of the feather with dirt smeared on it. The word clean.

"A cleaning charm?" Harry frowned; eyes still closed. "I don't think I know the incantation, though."

"Indeed, it is a cleaning charm," Lily smiled proudly. "It is a charm above your grade level, so I did not expect you to know it. Still, you are able to identify its purpose, and that is equally as useful."

Harry learned early on that Sensomagy was a branch of ancient magic that far predated the modern system used in Wizarding Britain. As a result, he couldn't discern the incantations since the magic preceded modern spells. But, he could identify the intent and effects, which amounted to the same thing in practice.

He quickly identified the other two feathers as being transfigured and conjured. The conjured one had an anti-transportation spell that Lily said was an anti-portkey charm.

"Well done," Lily praised. "Next, I want you to tell me who charmed these feathers."

Harry held the transfigured feather and tried to identify the owner. He reached out to it, and this time, instead of asking about the magic itself, he asked about its caster. Dark hair and rich, violet eyes appeared in his thoughts. An image of the rising moon.

"Luna?"

Lily nodded.

The next one was a bit harder. The conjured feather felt more foreign – he didn't think he'd met anyone with this signature before. White hair the colour of snow, pale skin, and grey eyes that shone like stars. A hall illuminated by torches. Sensation. Guidance. Luminance.

"Is that Theia?" Harry asked. Lily looked surprised for a split second before she composed herself.

"Indeed, that is the Light Mother," she nodded.

Harry still hadn't met the goddess who was to be his patron. He was supposed to meet her only after he'd mastered Sensomagy, which would hopefully be today.

He went through another batch of tests and trials, beating each. By the end, Lily proclaimed that he'd completed all stages of his Sensomagy training. He was rather pleased with himself and promised to treat himself for his troubles upon returning to Hogwarts.

After completing his training, Lily reverted the gazebo, and Harry blinked away his mage sight. He spent the next few hours enjoying his mother's company, knowing it would be the last he would see of her for a long time.

At last, it came time to say goodbye.

"Hello, Potters," Luna stood at the lip of the gazebo with her hands clasped behind her back. She smiled sadly at Harry. "It is time for you to return, Chosen."

His hands shook as he stood up. Lily rose with him.

"Come, I will bring you to your chambers one last time," she said, offering her hand, which he accepted.

The cool skin of his mother's palm burned against his warm fingers, threatening him with frostbite. Likewise, his heart froze over at the thought of saying goodbye. Each night, if only for a few hours, Harry didn't feel like an orphan. That brief respite from the harsh reality of his circumstance was now coming to an end. It was a tough pill to swallow.

Lily led Harry to his chambers, and Luna excused herself. He pulled his mother into a desperate hug – the first time he could remember initiating one, in this dreamscape or otherwise. He ignored the uncomfortably cool sensation and tried to glean a lifetime's worth of affection from her at that moment.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she said, her voice faint like she was in a different world. "I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"I wish we had more time," he sniffled. "I'm going to miss you. I don't know if I can go back to living without you. Sometimes – sometimes, I wish I were with you and Dad."

"No, Harry, you must never think that way," she said sternly. "You have so much to live for. So much to accomplish on this plane. Do not throw it all away. One day, the Potter family will be reunited in Hades' kingdom, but I only hope that it is not for a long time."

Lily held him at shoulder's length and looked deep into his eyes.

"Live, Harry," she said softly. "Live your life to the fullest. That is the opportunity your parents' sacrifice has given you. Live your life so well that it is enough for three lifetimes."

Harry hugged her again as tears fell down his cheeks. "I will. For you and Dad, I will."

She tucked him into bed and wiped the tears off his face with a tissue. She kissed him on the forehead, and he suppressed a shiver at the cool sensation. He looked at her one last time, drinking in the high cheekbones and the regal set of her shoulders, before closing his eyes. He squeezed her hand one last time before she waved her free hand over his face, sending him into the realm of unconsciousness.

The last words he heard were "Happy Birthday, Harry."

The next morning, he woke up in a foul mood. Of course, his relatives had to pick today of all days to host their stupid dinner party. Uncle Vernon was hosting Mr. Mason, one of his clients, with the hope of securing a large deal for his company, Grunnings.

When she was assigning him his chores for the day, Aunt Petunia caught him staring at her. He was trying to see any resemblance to his mother in her face. He found none and got nothing except suspended lunch privileges for his troubles.

In a brief respite from his chores, Harry sat in the backyard, feeling the sun's heat bear down on the back of his neck.

"Happy birthday to me," he mumbled to himself, hugging his knees to his chest. He plucked at a blade of grass, watching the pigment smear his fingertips green. "Happy birthday, dear Harry, happy birthday to me…"

Against all reason, he'd hoped that his friends would write him on his birthday. He didn't expect gifts, not like Dudley would've demanded, but he would've been ecstatic with even a word.

He'd even left the window open last night, shivering in the chilly summer air, in the hope that an owl would stop by.

Still, there was nothing.

He wiped the grass on his pants and stared into the hedge behind him. Suddenly, he jerked backwards. He could've sworn he saw a pair of eyes like large, bulbous headlamps. Then he blinked and they disappeared.

Great, now he was going loopy too.

Harry fisted a clump of grass from Aunt Petunia's perfectly tended lawn (though Harry usually did all the tending).

The lack of letters, plus the grief of losing his mother a second time, put Harry into a foul mood. So, when Dudley came over, Harry already knew he would likely lose his temper and resigned himself to whatever punishment he would receive.

"I know what day it is," Dudley sang as he waddled over.

"Congratulations, Dudley," Harry said dryly. "You figured out the days of the week. Planning on working out the months of the year next?"

Dudley scowled, and Harry unsuccessfully smothered a grin. His laughter vanished at the acerbic smirk on the larger boy's face.

"I know it's your birthday," Dudley said gleefully. "Don't you have any friends at that freak school of yours that'll send you presents?"

It was Harry's turn to scowl. "Sod off before I give you another pig's tail. I'll see if I can add a pair of ears on top."

"You can't do any of your freakishness here," Dudley said, though he didn't look too convinced. "Dad locked all your things away."

"Want to test that theory?" Harry grinned and raised his hands, remembering his first train ride with Ron. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat pig yellow."

Dudley shrieked and ran away to his mother. Aunt Petunia returned and whacked Harry over the head with a frying pan. She told him to check on the pudding in the freezer and set the dining table. With a dark look at her retreating back, a dazed Harry left for the kitchen. Meanwhile, Dudley and his father left to pick up their dinner jackets from dry cleaning.

Just over two hours later, the Dursleys retreated into their rooms to get dressed, leaving Harry to his own devices for the first time that day. He stared at the clock on the stove, watching the seconds tick by. How many more of those would have to pass before he was at Hogwarts again?

Did he even want to go back? Now that his friends had almost certainly abandoned him.

That was a stupid question. Even without them, Hogwarts was better than Privet Drive in every way. Hogwarts was his home.

The Dursleys came downstairs, dressed to the nines. Harry thought fancy clothes weren't enough to hide their hideous personalities. Petunia gushed over Dudley, calling him the most handsome boy she'd ever seen. Personally, Harry thought he looked more like a pig in a wig.

Once Vernon and Petunia ran a final check of the plans for the evening, they sent Harry up to his room. He trudged up the stairs and closed the door softly behind him. He let out a long, tired exhale before turning around and gasping.

There was a house elf on his bed.

Harry withheld some choice words that would've had Aunt Petunia washing his mouth out with soap. The house elf stood awkwardly on his bed, looking rather haggard compared to the ones he'd met at Hogwarts. Where the Hogwarts elves had all worn clean tea towels with the Hogwarts crest sewn on, this elf wore a dirty, ragged pillowcase. He was badly hurt, with bruises littering his body and bandages wrapped around both his ears.

"Er- Hello," Harry said cautiously.

"Harry Potter!" The elf exclaimed in a high-pitched voice. Harry winced, hoping that the walls were particularly thick downstairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir. Such an honour it is…"

"Thank you," Harry said in a low voice as he sank into his desk chair.

"Dobby? Is that your name?" Harry asked quietly, hoping the elf would take the hint. His hopes were dashed.

"Yes sir!" he squeaked, making Harry wince again. "My names be Dobby, sir! Dobby the house elf!"

"Nice to meet you, Dobby," Harry said, and Aunt Petunia's shrill laughter rang from downstairs. Harry thought with amusement that she sounded a little like the house elf. "Could you keep your voice down? It really isn't the best time for me to have a house elf in my room, you know?"

Dobby hung his head low.

"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," Harry said quickly, hoping Dobby wouldn't start wailing aloud. "Is there any reason you're here?"

"Oh yes, sir," the elf's large, bandaged ears flapped earnestly. "Dobby has much to tell Harry Potter sir… but Dobby knows not where to begin…"

"All right, you should sit down then," Harry tried to smile despite his bewilderment, and gestured to his bed.

To his horror, the elf broke into tears. Very loudly.

"Sit down!" Dobby wailed. "In my life, Dobby has never… never ever…"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Harry said frantically. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend? No sir," the elf cried. "Dobby has heard stories of the great Harry Potter's greatness, but he is being greater than even the stories!"

"What stories?" Harry asked. "Also, please quiet down. If my uncle hears us, I'm a dead man."

"Whose be threatening the great Harry Potter?" Dobby asked angrily. Harry groaned.

"No one! No one!" he waved his hands. "It's a figure of speech."

Harry helped Dobby onto the bed before sitting back in his chair. The elf seemed to have calmed down enough for coherent speech.

"Harry Potter sir never offends Dobby, sir," the elf shook his head vehemently. "Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a wizard. Like an equal –"

Harry shushed the elf frantically as its voice rose again. He quieted down.

"You can't have met many decent wizards then," Harry said feebly. Dobby looked on the verge of agreeing before abruptly rising and banging his head against the wall.

"BAD DOBBY! BAD DOBBY!"

Harry had to physically restrain the elf and pull him away from the wall to keep him from injuring himself. He continued beating himself over the head with flailing hands, which Harry too had to dodge once or twice.

"Dobby! Stop!" Harry hissed. The elf went limp, and Harry let go. "What are you doing? Why are you hurting yourself?"

"Dobby be punishing himself, Harry Potter, sir," the elf said mournfully. "Dobby nearly spoke ill of his family."

"Your family? You mean your masters?" Harry asked, remembering what Flitwick told him about house elves back in November. "Who are they?"

"Dobby can't say, sir. They would be furious if they found out Dobby came to see you," the elf nodded sadly. "Dobby will probably have to shut his ears in the oven again for his disobedience."

Harry stared in horror at the bandages on the elf's ears. "Why would you do that? Your family let you do that?"

"Oh, yes," Dobby nodded sadly. "Theys be encouraging it. Sometimes, they be reminding Dobby to punish himself more."

"That's vile!" Harry exclaimed. "Can't you leave? Is there any way I can help?"

Dobby once again broke into sobs, though Harry's frantic shushes managed to tone them down to whimpers.

"I be knowing about Harry Potter sir's greatness, but I never knew about his kindness, too," the elf wailed. Harry looked on awkwardly. "No, sir, only Dobby's masters can be freeing Dobby by giving him clothes."

"What about the elves at Hogwarts? Are they also treated like you?" Harry doubted it, remembering the happy and healthy creatures he'd met once in the kitchens. But he'd rather be safe than sorry. Dobby's story made what the Dursleys put Harry through seem almost humane, and he would be damned if he ate food cooked by abused creatures.

"No, sir," Dobby shook his head, and Harry let out a breath of relief. "The great Professor Dumbledore be taking good care of his elves, sir."

Then Dobby wrung his hands nervously. "Speaking of Hogwarts, sir, Dobby has come to warn you. There is a plot happening, sir. It is not safe at Hogwarts; Harry Potter must not return."

"No way," Harry said immediately. "I have to go back. Hogwarts is my home. I can't stay here."

"Harry Potter must not be going back, sir," the elf repeated stubbornly.

"You don't know what it's like here," Harry insisted, beginning to get angry. "The Dursleys – I can't stay here."

"There is great danger at Hogwarts. Harry Potter will be safer here."

"If there's danger, that's only more reason I have to go back," Harry said, surprising even himself. "My friends – they'll be in danger. I have to go back for them."

"Friends who won't even write to Harry Potter?"

Harry's veins filled with ice. "How did you know that?"

From within his pillowcase, Dobby withdrew a stack of letters. On the very top, Harry could make out Ron's untidy scrawl.

"Dobby hoped that if Harry Potter thought his friends abandoned him, he wouldn't want to go back," he spoke hesitantly as if expecting Harry to throttle him. He was close if he were being honest. "But Dobby underestimated how noble and good the great Harry Potter is being."

Harry didn't hear any of that.

"Give that back," his voice was low and brittle. Weeks' worth of loneliness, fear, and betrayal coagulated in his gut as unbridled rage. His hands shook with fury as he looked at Dobby.

"Promise you won't return to Hogwarts, and Dobby will give Harry Potter his letters," the elf said.

"Never," Harry snarled.

"Then Dobby must prevent Harry Potter from returning to Hogwarts, whether hes be liking it or not."

Harry lunged at Dobby, aiming to wrestle the letters out of his hands. The elf snapped his fingers and, with a loud pop, disappeared. Harry heard an identical sound on the landing outside his room. He wrenched his door open to see the elf scamper down the stairs. Harry cursed before chasing after the tiny creature.

Dobby's head start was too much, and Harry arrived at the bottom of the stairs to see him enter the kitchen. He followed and saw Dobby snap his fingers one more time. The letters disappeared from his hands. Harry didn't have long to wonder where they went as the giant pudding Aunt Petunia had painstakingly prepared began to float.

"No, no, no, Dobby, please don't," Harry pleaded. Magic or not, the punishment he would receive if anything happened to the dessert would be horrible. "They'll kill me."

"So, I believe it's time we get to business," He heard Uncle Vernon say as the party rose from their seats. "Pudding is in the kitchen if you'll follow me."

Harry's eyes widened. He looked at Dobby with pleading eyes, but the elf wouldn't look at him. The pudding moved to float over the door. "Harry Potter must say he won't be going back to school."

"Please Dobby, don't do this."

"Say it, sir."

"I can't, Dobby. You know I can't."

"Sorry, Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said just as the party entered. Aunt Petunia walked in, followed closely by Mrs. Mason. The two women were laughing insincerely at some inane joke, completely unaware of the giant vat of cavities and toothache floating over them.

The pudding landed with a loud crash right on Mrs. Mason's head. The older woman shrieked as she was covered in gelatine and frosting. The front of Aunt Petunia's dress was also fully covered in the sticky dessert.

Uncle Vernon saw him first.

"Boy!" he yelled, pointing his finger the size of a sausage in his face. "What have you done?"

"It wasn't me! It was –" Harry looked around frantically, only to find Dobby had vanished in the commotion.

"That's enough out of you, boy," Vernon's face was the colour of a ripe plum, and spittle went everywhere as he spoke. "Clean up, I'll deal with you later."

Harry retrieved a broom and mop and got to work, trying to ignore the other occupants.

"Terribly sorry about that," Uncle Vernon said, handing his wife and Mrs. Mason tissues. "That's my nephew, you see. Terribly disturbed boy, I always tell him how grateful he should be that we give him room and board, you know? Now, let's get you ladies cleaned up, and we'll get back to pudding. I do believe we have some ice cream in the freezer."

Mrs. Mason seemed to have calmed herself down when an owl swooped in, causing her to shriek again before hightailing it out of the house. Mr. Mason followed her out, but not before speaking heatedly, "She's deathly afraid of birds, you see. If this is your idea of a joke, I implore you to find a better sense of humour."

Harry paled, first at the look on the Dursleys' faces, then, at the sight of the owl, or rather, the letter clutched in its talons. The bird released the letter, flew off, and Uncle Vernon picked it up. The large man read the letter despite Harry's protests and gained a malicious look. He grinned at Harry triumphantly and brandished the parchment at him.

"Go on then, boy," Vernon sneered. "Read it then."

Harry took the letter from him, and despite his longing to receive any communication from the wizarding world, he knew this couldn't be good. He really hoped it was a late birthday wish from Alicia or Ron that had made it past Dobby.

It wasn't.

Dear Mr Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity which risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence, under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic

Harry looked at Vernon and gulped.

"When were you planning on telling us you weren't allowed to do magic outside school, boy?" Vernon grinned with a devilish glint in his beady little eyes. "I reckon you forgot – slipped your mind, eh, boy?"

He got up close to Harry, who could see the little pieces of chicken in Vernon's teeth. That would've been a rather nauseating sight if he wasn't scared out of his mind.

"Guess what, boy? You won't be going back to that school of yours. I'm going to lock you in your room till September passes – and if you magic yourself out, well, they'll expel you anyway. Isn't that poetic?"

Vernon didn't let Harry get a word in, dragging the boy by the arm and throwing him into his room. Harry fell to the floor next to his desk, and the door locked behind him with a click.

He pulled himself to his feet and promptly collapsed into his chair. He was royally screwed. There was no way he'd get back to Hogwarts now.

At least his friends hadn't abandoned him.

Where he once felt anger and betrayal was only guilt. Why hadn't he considered an outside influence? Why had he assumed they'd left him out to dry?

So much for silver linings.

Harry collapsed into his bed and screamed into his pillow. Weirdly enough, something inside poked him in the face. He stuffed his hand inside the pillowcase and felt parchment. Heart beating faster, he pulled out a stack of envelopes. He recognised Alicia's loopy penmanship, Ron's untidy scrawl, Katie's tidy yet slightly shaky writing, and Hermione's uniform script.

He held the letters with shaky hands. He picked one off the top of the pile.

Hey Harry,

How's your summer been so far? I hope you haven't been brooding too much over the Quirrell business. Remember, it WASN'T YOUR FAULT.

Don't forget that. If you spend the sunshine sulking in your room and feeling bad for yourself, I will make you regret it when you get back to Hogwarts. You better have some great stories for me, especially if you won't be able to see the rest of us over the break.

I miss you, Angie, and Katie terribly. I found myself in a quiet moment even missing the twins' chaos. It's still pretty insane that we're going to be the reigning champs next year. Has that set in for you? Mum and Dad were so proud when I told them. They have the picture of the team holding the trophy enlarged and hung on the mantle in the living room. It's a little embarrassing whenever we have guests but at the same time it's kind of incredible.

Harry grinned. His copy of that picture was secured safely in his trunk, in the photobook Hagrid gave him. He'd found that the last few pages of the book were empty, with only a note.

For future memories, it read in Hagrid's large, blocky scrawl.

That picture was the first memory he'd collected.

I know this is a short letter but I'm going to an aunt's house for my cousin's birthday. She's turning ten and is already a little monster. I'm not looking forward to when she comes to Hogwarts two years from now. I would love to write more but I really must get ready.

Awaiting your response,

Your favourite chaser.

Harry sniffled and carefully folded the parchment. The next letter he opened was from Ron.

Hey Harry, how's summer been? Mum has been a straight terror around the house, making us do all the chores now that we're home. Fred and George keep trying to convince me and Ginny to eat their prank sweets. Ginny's my little sister, she's starting at Hogwarts this year. Percy's been acting pretty weird, always locked up in his room doing Merlin knows what. The Cannons might make playoffs this year. I'm super excited. Their new keeper might just help us win the championship. We might be back, Harry! Hermione's already badgering me about homework. Is she doing that with you, too? Anyway, let me know if your relatives will let you come over sometime. Fred and George also said it would be fun to go flying together. Don't let the muggles get you down, mate.

Ron

Harry laughed wetly before moving on to the next letter. This one was from Katie, dated to the middle of July.

To Green Lightning,

Hehe.

Hi Harry! How's your summer been so far? Do anything cool? Dad took me camping in the Forest of Dean and guess who I ran into?

Attached to the letter was a muggle photograph of Katie and Hermione grinning in muggle clothes surrounded by trees. Harry looked at the letter enviously before propping it up on his nightstand.

We ended up setting up tents next to each other. I taught Hermione how to make smores, but I don't think her parents were too happy about it. Have you had smores before? It's my favourite dessert. It's delicious. We should see if the elves in the kitchen will make us some when we're back at Hogwarts.

Dad also showed them some of the magical creatures in the Forest. It was cool watching muggles meet a bowtruckle for the first time. One snuck into Hermione's hair and wouldn't leave. I think Hermione has a pet bowtruckle now.

Hermione mentioned that you haven't responded to her or Ron's letters, though she's pretty sure you received them. Is everything okay? Did you two fight? She's not being forthcoming, which leads me to believe something happened. Or perhaps you're just busy. Do respond to her when you get the chance. She's getting worked up over what I'm sure is nothing.

I haven't seen the girls yet this break, and obviously, we haven't had the chance to meet either. We should plan something soon. I know you said you wouldn't be able to meet up over the summer but maybe you could convince your relatives? Pleeeeeeaaase?

Until the next letter,

Katie.

Harry groaned and punched his pillow. He felt so maddeningly helpless. How he wished he could just reply, but he looked at Hedwig still in her cage. She was the only one who understood just how trapped he felt. He wanted to kick, scream, or break something, but it was so late in the night that he didn't want to wake the Dursleys.

Sleep-deprived Vernon tended to get violent.

The next letter was dated for the third of July, less than a week since Hogwarts let out. Hermione's name was scrawled on the front.

Dear Harry,

How have you been? After meeting your relatives, I can see why you don't like them that much. Mum was rather concerned and was asking about you. I do hope you're doing all right. Mum said you could come to visit sometime. Let me know if that's something you'd enjoy.

I miss Hogwarts terribly. I never thought I'd miss the suits of armour and the ghosts or even Peeves. Can you believe that? That I miss Peeves? I wonder if you feel the same.

Though I'm enjoying being back with my parents. Mum and Dad took a couple days off work to spend time with me. They weren't happy when they found out about all the sweets I ate. Don't worry, I didn't tell them you were my supplier.

I've already started our summer homework and hope to be done by the end of the week. What about you? Are you also planning on leaving it to the end, as I'm sure Ron will be? I hope not. Don't forget that you also have your exams coming up. The third of August will be here before you realise. Make sure you stay prepared. You'll do well on your exams. I believe in you!

My family is going camping soon, and I'm ever so excited. I haven't been in so long and I'm rather looking forward to it. Have you ever been camping? Imagine going camping with Ron, I think the three of us would tear each other to shreds. Ron would probably abandon us for the nearest café the moment he got hungry.

Well, I feel a little bad that I'm talking all about myself. How are you doing with your studies? Have you done anything interesting this summer?

I don't really have a lot of practice corresponding with friends. I hope I'm doing this right.

Either way, I hope you can visit soon. I'll be missing you and Ron and counting down the days till September!

Love,

Hermione Granger.

Harry felt a small ball of hope grow within him. He'd completely forgotten that his teachers were coming to proctor his exams. He was sure he would fail all of them since he hadn't gotten a lick of studying done. But perhaps they would help him out if they found out the Dursleys were preventing him from reaching Hogwarts. Especially because one of the professors coming was Flitwick.

He could last three days. The hopelessness and self-pity were now replaced by fierce determination. With higher spirits, Harry picked out the next letter. There was no name on the envelope, and the address was written in an unfamiliar handwriting.

Harry Potter,

It has come to my attention, courtesy of my protégé Albus Dumbledore, that you are a Sentiomagus like myself. But first I must apologise and thank you. Because of my invention, you were put into a life-threatening situation and injured. For that, you have my sincerest apologies. I never expected that the Dark Lord would attempt to retrieve the stone. Such was an oversight on my part. In that vein, I must also thank you for preventing his return. I could not have lived with myself if I had contributed to his return, and to the dark times that would have inevitably followed.

Now, on the topic of our shared ability. I would like to meet with you, and potentially teach you how to harness some of the facets of your talents. I was sought out by the Light Mother and was even her Chosen for a time, but I relinquished her banner to pass down to the next generation. Though I am without her talents, I still have many teachings left to impart.

Now that the stone is set to be destroyed, I find myself living on borrowed time. I have enough elixir left to last myself and my wife Perenelle the next three years. That might seem like a long time, but if there is one thing I have learned from living 500 years, it is that time can pass in the blink of an eye. I have much to teach you, so I expect a prompt response so we may begin as soon as possible.

May the Divine Light Guide You,

Nicholas Flamel

Harry had completely forgotten about what Professor Dumbledore told him about Nicholas Flamel. Excitement built within him at the thought of learning from a five-hundred-year-old wizard.

He was curious as to what he'd learn. Perhaps there was more to Sensomagy than he already knew? Or was he about to learn a different branch of ancient magic entirely?

There was only one way to find out. All he needed was to wait three days. Seventy-two hours that he was sure would feel like an eternity.

Chapter Text

Minerva McGonagall was a remarkably busy woman. She was a leading expert and tenured professor of one of the hardest and most dangerous magical disciplines at one of the leading schools of magic. She was the head of the infamously rambunctious house at said school, and the deputy headmistress to top it off. While Albus Dumbledore was a very competent wizard, spokesperson, and scholar, he wasn’t particularly fond of his administrative duties, leaving her to pick up most of his slack.

So, when the headmaster asked for volunteers to proctor the Potter boy’s delayed exams, she had been reluctant to give up the little free time she had over the summer. Filius Flitwick had immediately volunteered, which didn’t surprise her. She knew her long-time friend and colleague harboured intense guilt over his student’s kidnapping at the hands of Quirrell. She also knew that the two had something of a mentor-mentee relationship. What exactly the two had bonded over, she didn’t know but was glad to see him guide the poor boy, nonetheless.

She too harboured a little guilt towards the boy. When Argus had caught the boy sneaking around after curfew back in spring, she feared she’d overreacted. With the troll from earlier in the year and someone having made multiple attempts to steal the stone, the staff were all on edge. While they didn’t know it was Quirrell, they were fully aware of what the troll and the broom jinxing had meant. So, when she found the one boy who was clearly a target in both those cases in the bloody Astronomy Tower of all places, she’d lost her cool.

Minerva had watched her house – the house of the brave and the chivalrous – turn on one of their own at the drop of a hat. It was a stark reminder of the cruelty that children were capable of. She had been very ashamed of her lions then, and a little ashamed of herself for the part she played in Potter’s ostracism. She convinced herself it would be a good lesson. She convinced herself it was for his own good.

Thankfully, Potter seemed to have found himself good friends. She’d been ready to intervene when she saw one of her Quidditch players beckon Potter over in the Great Hall. She’d been relieved when she saw the team rally around the boy. While she was ashamed of how Gryffindor had reacted, she was immensely proud of her Quidditch team. Oliver Wood seemed to have a keen eye for not only talented players but good people to boot.

Watching the boy not be utterly friendless and vulnerable, with older students like Spinnet, Johnson, and even the Weasley twins scaring off the more hostile students, did a lot to assuage her guilt.

She knew her punishment had been too harsh – just a little.

She later admitted that to Filius and Pomona Sprout over a glass of firewhiskey. She certainly wouldn’t admit that to the Potter boy – Merlin knew what that would do to his ego. She had no intention of turning the quiet and well-mannered boy into another James Potter.

Filius had attempted to convince her to join him, stooping so low as to suggest helping him would make up for her overreaction earlier. It had been him pointing out that the boy wouldn’t be able to play Quidditch next year if he weren’t in good academic standing that had her standing in front of his house.

Minerva’s nose wrinkled as she took in her surroundings. Identical houses greeted her with red brick walls and asphalt shingles on the hipped roof. The same carefully mowed lawns, and even the same make and model of cars in the front. It looked just as dull as when she’d last visited the place eleven years ago.

It brought back memories of a worse time. It was a time that was cause for celebration for most but one of mourning for her. The fall of Voldemort, the death of James Potter and his wife, and the miraculous survival of the boy she was here to see.

The last time she’d met the boy’s relatives, she hadn’t gotten a good impression. She thought they were rather judgmental and cared too much what others thought of them. That was why she’d convinced Filius to go to Potter’s house in the late stages of the evening so that others wouldn’t ask too many questions.

They’d been late, and that was why she and Filius were knocking on Harry Potter’s door in the middle of the night. They arrived before midnight, so at least they weren’t absent.

Just very, very tardy. She blamed Pomona, who’d gotten her into an intense discussion on Pride of Portree’s chances of winning the league this year. They’d concluded that the chances were ‘very high’, but she’d lost track of time and Filius, who she’d promised to wake from an afternoon nap, hadn’t reminded her.

The door swung open, and Minerva was greeted with the unpleasant sight of a large man with a hilariously proportional walrus moustache. She vaguely remembered his name to begin with a V. Vincent? Victor? No, this man didn’t seem like a Victor.

“Who knocks on someone’s door in the middle of the bloody night? What do you want?” The man asked irately, his eyes unfocused in the darkness.

“We’re here to see Harry Potter,” Flitwick announced cheerily despite the odd hour. The man’s face purpled and his expression turned ugly. Immediately, Minerva knew that something was terribly amiss.

“You’re his ilk, aren’t you?” The man spat, and his hands clenched into fists. Her eyes narrowed. “Sod off then; your kind isn’t welcome here.”

He tried to shut the door in their faces, but Filius waved his wand, and the door froze in place. The man growled in frustration as he shoved the door with his entire body, just for it to remain locked in place.

“You – you put that stick away before the neighbours see,” the man’s beady black eyes darted about the street as if expecting someone to pop out of the bushes with a camera.

“Let us see Harry Potter,” Filius said again; his usual cheer replaced by a cool tone. “We’re his teachers, and we’re here to help him make up his exams.”

“Make-up exams?” the man chortled, giving up on the door. “Not surprised. The boy was always rather thick. Always had to cheat to beat Dudders on a test.”

“Potter is one of my best students,” Minerva spoke for the first time, barely getting the words out through her clenched jaw. She didn’t trust herself to say more. The next words she spoke might be a statute-breaking curse.

“Indeed, a rather smart boy; like his mother,” Flitwick nodded, though his words also sounded strained. “Once again, I must ask that you let us see Harry Potter.”

The man’s face purpled, but before he could retort, a faint hoot caught their attention. “Ruddy owl! I ought to take that thing out back and put it down!”

If Minerva remembered correctly, Potter owned an owl. Filius seemed to have the same idea, for he smoothly brushed past the large man and started hopping up the stairs. Normally, she would be against such impropriety, but in this instance, she was willing to make an exception. The instincts she’d honed from meeting students from all sorts of backgrounds over decades of teaching told her something was very wrong.

Suddenly, this visit was about more than just some exams.

She followed Filius up the stairs, wand clutched tight in her hand. The large man blustered behind them but didn’t make any moves to stop them, warily eyeing the foci in their hands.

She and Flitwick walked down the hallway, listening for the hoot again. She looked at the pictures on the walls. After the initial surprise when they didn’t move or react to her presence, she realised that every picture had one of three people: the large man they’d run into downstairs, a boy around Potter’s age that she was sure was at least three times his size, and a tall, thin-faced woman who, despite having no resemblance whatsoever, had to be Lily’s sister. Notably missing from the pictures was Potter himself.

The foreboding feeling in her gut intensified.

At the end of the hallway was a door with five locks and a bloody cat flap. Minerva knew, from the increased sense of smell afforded to her by her Animagus form, that she was the closest thing to a feline to enter this house in a long time.

“Why do I get the feeling Harry doesn’t own a cat?” Filius asked gravely.

“Because he doesn’t.”

Filius sighed tiredly and waved his wand, and the locks clicked open. She pushed the door and walked into the room.

A startled yelp greeted her as a small boy in far-too-large clothes hurriedly shoved a piece of parchment into his pillowcase. Minerva knew that the Potter men were all rather skinny – as James and his father Fleamont had been – but Harry was criminally so. Rags that would be too large on a boy thrice his size hung off his skeletal frame like curtains.

The only other things in the room were a tiny drawer that doubled as a nightstand, a desk that realistically couldn’t be used for much more than reading letters, and a small, spindly bed with thin covers that she knew couldn’t be sufficient to keep out even a cold breeze. A tiny plate, with half a boiled chicken breast and a tin of tomato soup, lay on the desk, clearly having been slid through the cat flap. In the corner, a pure white snowy owl sat in a cage soiled with her own droppings. The owl hooted in greeting at the sight of them.

“Professor Flitwick? Professor McGonagall?” Harry Potter asked with wide eyes. “You actually came.”

“Of course, Potter,” Minerva said dryly, still surveying the room. “Your exams won’t write themselves, will they?”

The boy winced. “Right… exams…”

She raised an eyebrow. “Have you not been studying?”

“No, sorry, Professor,” the boy said quietly. His eyes didn’t leave the floor. “My aunt and uncle locked all my school things away as soon as we came back. I haven’t been able to do any homework or study. I’m really sorry.”

She’d seen many muggleborns go through rejection from their family. She hadn’t expected it to happen to Harry Potter though. She’d trusted Dumbledore when he placed the infant boy with the Dursleys. Clearly, Albus had been wrong.

Minerva’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Can you take me to your things?”

Potter looked at Filius. At the other professor’s gentle smile, he nodded and took her to the cupboard under the stairs.

“Everything is in here,” he said quietly, looking around worriedly.

Minerva cast a quick revealing charm. “Your relatives are all inside their bedrooms. They will not disturb us.”

Her guess had been right, for the boy visibly relaxed. Her teeth ground against each other as she tamped down her anger. She cast an unlocking charm on the cupboard, and it swung open. Inside was a beaten old trunk, on which she transfigured legs before ordering it into his bedroom.

What she saw underneath the trunk confused her. There was a mattress and a pillow, both dirty and yellowed. A few clothes – a pair of socks and shorts – were stuffed into a makeshift stand. It was too small for any adult to fit in, but clearly, it had been slept in. Just not for over a year.

For a moment she wondered if Potter’s relatives owned a house elf. Then she remembered that they were muggles. She glanced at the boy, who looked at the cupboard with gaunt familiarity. Her blood boiled.

There was no house elf occupying that cupboard. Just Harry Potter.

She marched up the stairs after instructing Harry to get whatever he needed from the cupboard and follow her. She found Filius cleaning the owl and offering it some water. The trunk rested against the foot of the bed. He turned around at the sound of her footsteps, and his frown deepened at the mutinous look on her face. Harry walked in behind her holding his wand and broomstick, looking apprehensive. He flinched at the look on her face. She drew her expression back to neutrality.

“Harry,” Filius asked slowly. His tone was tired and weathered with the burden of experience. “Do your relatives treat you well?”

Harry shrugged noncommittally. Filius looked at him sternly, and he wilted under the professor’s gaze.

“They say they treat me as well as I deserve,” he said quietly. Minerva took in a sharp breath.

“Do they beat you? Do they feed you enough?” Filius asked, looking Harry over. The look on Harry’s face answered both questions, even if he didn’t respond.

Minerva was certain she could answer at least that second question for him. An entire year at Hogwarts, and she’d never wondered why the boy always wore his school robes. She assumed that he was simply excited to be in the wizarding world. Merlin knew a lot of muggleborns could be found even sleeping in their robes they were so excited. The reality, she now realised, was that he didn’t have any decent clothes that fit him and didn’t show his malnourished frame to the world.

The two professors exchanged a grim look that clearly asked, “What do we do?”

“We have to speak to Albus,” Filius said. “Surely he’s unaware of this.”

“He left the boy here,” she said solemnly and heard Harry gasp. “I doubt he knows, but he still ceded guardianship. The muggles are Potter’s guardians. I doubt there’s much he can do immediately.”

Filius frowned and Minerva continued. “What about the Muggleborn Protection Act? As professors, we’re allowed to take a student away from harmful muggle guardians.”

Harry looked hopeful but deflated when Filius shook his head. “Muggleborn Protection Act. He’s a half-blood.”

She cursed, and Harry looked at her, bewildered.

“We can’t just leave him here,” Minerva said, frustration seeping into her voice despite her best efforts. “Morgana knows what they’ll do to him because of our visit.”

“I’m not saying we leave him here,” Filius said smoothly. “But we are still professors, and we cannot act rashly and reflect poorly on ourselves and the school.”

A loud rumble outside caught her attention. The three occupants of the bedroom turned and saw a blue Ford Anglia outside their window. Except, Harry’s bedroom was on the second floor. The car was bloody floating.

With a bullshit tolerance built from three years with the Weasley twins and seven with the Marauders, Minerva sighed resignedly. She peered into the driver's seat to find none other than the twins. Their youngest brother, Ronald, sat in the backseat.

“Professor McGonagall! Professor Flitwick! Fancy seeing you here,” said the twin in the passenger seat.

“Nice weather we’re having,” yelled the other twin over his brother. He grinned at them. The youngest Weasley looked positively nauseous at the sight of the professors.

“Keep your eye ahead before you get yourselves killed,” Minerva snapped, already feeling a headache coming on. The twin obediently turned back around. “What in Merlin’s name are you three doing? How did you get your hands on this – this contraption?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” said the passenger-side twin. “Just to clarify – you can’t give us detention because we’re on break, right?”

“Detention? I should report you two to the ministry!” She said, “What were you two thinking?”

“I’m here too!” Ron said indignantly, and the two twins whacked him over the head.

“If I were you, Weasley, I wouldn’t volunteer myself for punishment,” Filius shook his head. “Mighty irresponsible, flying a car across the country. What are you three doing here, anyway?”

“Hermione and I thought Harry might be in trouble with his relatives,” Ron said. “He hasn’t responded to his letters all summer, so we were worried.”

“You’ve come to check up on him, or to take him with you?” She asked sharply.

“We were thinking of asking if he wanted to come back with us,” Ron said. “I’m sure Mum wouldn’t mind.”

“I’d love to go!” Harry piped up, flushing under the looks of the two adults.

She hummed her acknowledgement and Filius looked at her curiously.

“Filius, I just remembered I have an urgent task to complete. We must leave immediately,” she said, and her colleague’s eyes widened. “Of course, we cannot condone you three taking Potter anywhere, but if we were to return all of his things exactly how we left them, and you were to – say, take him away without our knowledge – we couldn’t do anything about it.”

“For that matter,” Filius tapped his wand against the window and the bars disappeared. It’s getting a little stuffy in here.”

Minerva flicked her wand, and the trunk hobbled back down the stairs.

“I’m just returning the trunk to its cupboard,” she said in response to Flitwick’s questioning look. “Wouldn’t want to be caught aiding and abetting any… tomfoolery, now, would I? Now we really must run. I will trust you boys to lock the cupboard and the trunk whenever you deem it necessary. And Potter, do write either myself or Professor Flitwick so that we may finally be done with your exams.”

The two professors walked down the stairs, and Minerva quickly set a low-powered silencing charm outside the master bedroom.

“Wouldn’t want the aunt and uncle to be disturbed by the boy’s exams, you know?”

Filius snorted and shook his head. The two professors exited to the street, before taking one last glance at the twins, who were piling out of the car into Harry’s bedroom. Then, they disapparated with a loud crack and reappeared outside the front gates of Hogwarts.

The gates swung open for them, and they walked back to the castle.

“Did we do the right thing?” Minerva wondered. “That felt rather rushed.”

“It was genius, Minerva,” Filius said reassuringly. “I’m more concerned with the existence of that car. I need to have a word with Arthur. That man’s obsession with muggles is going to cost him his job one day.”

“You think that car belonged to Arthur Weasley?”

“Oh, almost certainly,” he nodded. “Let us hope this is the last we hear of it.”

She snorted, then sobered. “What do you plan to do about Potter’s situation? We can’t simply wash our hands of it. Bless their hearts, but the Weasleys aren’t equipped to take in another child, though they certainly would if asked.”

“Indeed. First, we must talk to Albus. I have some questions for him.”

“Oh, get in line, Filius,” Minerva had a feral expression. “Eleven years ago, I warned him against leaving Potter at the Dursleys. He didn’t listen then, but I’ll make him listen now.”

Filius snickered. “Oh, I would love to see that. How about we go see him now?”

“Sounds like a splendid idea.”

The duo diverted from their offices towards that of the headmaster.

“Ice mice,” she said to the griffin statue, which shifted to the side. Minerva knocked on the door and opened it, not waiting for acknowledgement. Albus looked up from his desk pleasantly. He had a visitor, however. Standing across from the headmaster, Snape looked at the two new arrivals impassively.

“Minerva, Filius,” Albus said genially. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You see, Albus, Minerva and I just returned from a home visit. If you remember, Harry Potter hasn’t completed his exams,” Filius said. Minerva suppressed an eyeroll at Snape’s sneer at the mention of the boy’s name. “We just returned from a visit to his residence.”

“Ah, splendid,” Albus nodded. “I imagine you might not have completed your grading, but I admit to being a little curious. How did he do?”

“I wouldn’t know, since we never got around to proctoring the exams,” Minerva said, and she enjoyed watching Albus’ frown deepen in confusion. Served him right. “He hadn’t the chance to study, so Filius and I decided to delay his examination.”

“Of course he didn’t study,” Snape sneered. “Lazy brat, just like his father.”

Minerva’s nostrils flared. “I seem to remember James Potter differently, Severus. I doubt he could have been top of his class in Transfiguration for three years straight if he was, as you so succinctly put it, a ‘lazy brat’. This is a child, not his father. I expect you to remember that, professor.”

Snape’s lip curled but he was interrupted by Albus before he could respond.

“Minerva, Severus, please. What happened to young Harry?”

“When we went to his residence, we encountered his guardian – the vilest man I have ever met, and I’ve had Lucius Malfoy argue with me about his son’s Transfiguration marks,” Minerva said, her tone sour. “He wouldn’t let us in, and Filius and I got a bad feeling about the way he spoke of Potter. Like he was some burden they had to carry. So, we went inside and found Potter in a tiny room. The door was bolted shut and locked from the outside. There was a bloody cat flap on the door where they were sliding in his meals. And meagre ones at that, if you looked at the boy.”

Minerva a deep breath.

Filius continued, “he told us he hadn’t been able to get any homework or studying done because his relatives had locked his things up. Clearly, after they realised he couldn’t do any magic because of the ministry warning, they locked him in his room as well. On that topic, I’m starting to believe the warning might have been false if his wand truly was locked away.”

“He took me downstairs, and lo behold, there was his trunk, broom, and wand, in this locked cupboard. But that wasn’t the worst part, Albus. In the cupboard, I found something else,” Minerva swallowed thickly, and Filius looked at her, alarmed. “There – there was a bed. It looked used. There were things in there. Children’s toys – all broken and salvaged. I saw a tiny doll stuck together with muggle Spellotape. I think Potter used to sleep there.”

Albus had turned as pale as his silver hair. Next to him, Snape’s expression had gone blank.

“The Boy-Who-Lived – James and Lily’s son – grew up abused, Albus,” the grief turned to anger as she looked at the old wizard. “I told you they were not fit to raise him. I told you but you wouldn’t listen. I knew they were too different from us, but I’d never imagined this. His lost childhood lies at your hands, Albus. That too from his own family. His mother’s sister.”

“What?” Snape’s impassive expression had been replaced by sheer shock. “His mother’s sister – Albus, you left the boy with Petunia?”

“I had to – she was his only blood,” Albus said defensively. “The protections – the boy needed to be safe from those from our world who would do him harm. Lily’s sacrifice made Petunia the best person for the job.”

“What about those from the muggle world, Albus? His own family? If you knew – if Minerva and Severus both knew they were horrible people – why did you leave him there? He’s been raised completely unaware. Unaware, not only of the society from which he hails but the very family that died for him,” Filius raged, a rare sight for the calm and gentle man. “Until I told him, he didn’t even know what Lily looked like, Albus. Until I told him, he didn’t even know he had her eyes! Is this how we honour her memory? By letting her son be treated worse than a house elf in the most vile of families?”

Albus looked incredibly frail. Snape too looked weak and conjured a chair for himself to collapse into. The youngest man in the room took long, shaking breaths.

“You are correct,” Albus said softly. “You are all correct.”

“I was not aware of the extent of the boy’s treatment, but I knew he was likely due a loveless childhood. I’d hoped – perhaps naively – that they would love him like their own. I had hoped that the loss of her sister would soften Petunia’s heart. I was wrong.”

Albus strode to an ornate oak table, upon which lay numerous devices. He picked one up and fiddled with it. “The protections upon the house are weaker than I expected. I suppose that confirms your suspicions. The boy cannot remain there.”

He sighed deeply as if feeling each of his many years. “Now the question must be where he will stay? He cannot stay in the castle during the summer. Where can he go if not the Dursleys?”

“Anywhere else,” Filius insisted. “Anywhere would be better than there.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge,” Severus said quietly. “Potter might have had a… rough life but it is still better than many. We must not act hastily.”

“You are right, of course,” Filius conceded. “I suppose we don’t have to decide right now. From what I understand, the boy is with the Weasleys now.”

Minerva nodded. “He will be safe and happy for the rest of the summer. I daresay that will be a first for him. We have failed him, Albus. No more. We must rectify our mistakes and hope he will forgive us for robbing him of his childhood.”

Albus nodded and a morbid silence settled over the room.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to drown my sorrows in firewhiskey,” Filius sighed and Albus waved him down. The headmaster summoned a large bottle of amber liquid.

“Stay. I imagine that will be on most of our dockets for the rest of the night,” Albus conjured four tumblers and filled them. “I, for one, have a lot of guilt to drink away.”

Filius and Minerva conjured chairs and accepted a tumbler each.

She raised her glass, “To doing better.”

There was an array of clinking sounds and muttered agreements as the professors drank - not to the Boy-Who-Lived - but to Harry Potter.

Fred Weasley and his twin brother George had been called many things in the past. Bloody idiots (courtesy of Ron), incorrigible fools (thanks Mum), bad siblings (though Alicia had retracted it immediately), dunderhead and slow-headed and irrevocably brain-dead (Snape, Snape, and Snape again), and his personal favourite: ‘blight on humanity’ (that one was Aunt Muriel). Generally, Fred felt he and George deserved whatever names people called him, troublemakers that they were. One thing no one had ever called him was a bad friend.

He felt like a downright terrible one as he chewed on the tail of his quill.

Dear Alicia, read the first line of the letter. The rest of the parchment was blank.

He didn’t know what to say. How did one usually tell their friend that their other friend slept in a cupboard growing up?

Fred wasn’t as close to Harry as perhaps he ought to be, but he and his twin were the only ones in a position to help. He knew what he’d seen in the cupboard under the stairs. He’d thought McGonagall returning the trunk to the cupboard was a little excessive but had chalked it up to an oversight. In hindsight, he thought she might have wanted them to find the bed and the toys that had clearly once been used by Harry.

Perhaps she thought they, as his friends, could offer some comfort. They weren’t the best ones for the job, but Fred was smart enough to delegate to the person who was.

Fred knew Alicia was Harry’s closest friend and sat down to write her as soon as he finished degnoming the garden for his mum.

Now, he sat in front of an empty parchment not knowing what to say. He wrote a couple of lines before scratching them out. He repeated the process, nearly shattering his inkwell in his frustration. Finally, he decided to just recount the events of the night and ask Alicia for advice on how to proceed. It was really the only thing he could do.

Somewhere not too far away in the not-too-distant future, Alicia Spinnet seethed as she read the letter Fred sent her.

When the tired old owl arrived on her windowsill, bearing a letter from a Weasley, her initial reaction was surprise. She was friends with the twins, sure, but not close enough that they’d ever bothered to write each other beyond the occasional birthday wishes.

Her second reaction was suspicion. While she was certain that the twins wouldn’t waste their prank pass during the summer, she’d still stayed as far away from the letter as possible while opening it, lest it explode in her face. The letter had been painfully mundane in appearance.

Then, she’d finally read it and had been furious. At Harry’s relatives, the Dursleys, and at herself. How had she missed the signs? It was so obvious in hindsight. Harry’s aversion to touch, his tendency to blame himself, and his propensity to expect people to abandon him. Traits she’d brushed off as insecurities and trivial little idiosyncrasies suddenly seemed so much more sinister.

How could she have been so blind?

She clenched the paper in her fist, rage building within her as she imagined a tiny Harry crying himself to sleep in his little cupboard, with nothing but broken, dirty toys and spiders for company. She let out a frustrated scream and threw a half empty mug of tea at the wall. It shattered into a million pieces and brown liquid splattered. She stared at the dripping tea and took heaving breaths. Her anger dissipated and all she was left with was a deep sadness for the boy she’d come to see as something like a little brother.

She swore loudly, retrieved a rag from the kitchen, and got to work cleaning up the mess she’d made. She thanked every deity that would listen that her parents were both at work and her brother was at a friend’s place. She did not want to explain any of this to them. But maybe she should – they might be able to help. She filed that away for later.

As soon as she was done cleaning, she returned to her desk. She wrote out a quick response to Fred and added a note to give to Harry. She wasn’t sure why a house elf was blocking her letters, but maybe Fred could circumvent him. That was still hard to believe, but she knew Harry wasn’t a liar. Certainly not about something like this.

She’d just sent a letter off with the Weasleys’ owl when another flew in. She smiled wide at the sight of the snowy white owl.

“Took you long enough,” she grumbled to Hedwig as she petted her feathers. The owl snipped at her fingers, and she laughed. “Sorry, sorry. They probably locked you up. Or was it that house elf? Either way, I’m glad you’re back in business.”

The owl hooted and stuck out her leg, tied to which was a bundle of letters. She sifted through them, looking for her name. She found letters for Hermione, Katie, Oliver, and Angelina before finding one with her name on it.

She plucked her letter out of the bundle and Hedwig hopped out the window and flew off. She watched the owl soar – with more grace than the Weasley owl – and unfurled the parchment. She scanned through the letter, looking for any mention of the Dursleys, but all he talked about was how wonderful the Weasley home was, with an offhand mention of Dobby the house elf and how he hadn’t received any letters. He apologised for a lack of correspondence despite her knowing it was no fault of his, which she found to be painfully in character for him.

How much of that was a consequence of his lacklustre childhood?

She groaned and rubbed her temples. Now that the cat was out of the bag, she knew she’d be analysing every one of his actions for such signs.

She penned a response, mentioning the note she slipped into Fred’s letter and reassuring him that he wasn’t at fault for his owl silence. She added one last note before tying the letter with a loose string. She pulled another piece of parchment toward her and chewed the end of her quill.

She needed advice – she was completely out of her depth – but she didn’t want to spread the word about his circumstances. If he hadn’t told her because he was embarrassed, telling others would only make things worse. She didn’t want to hang his darkest secret out for everyone else to see. At the same time, what could she do? She was a fourteen-year-old girl who’d never dealt with anything of this magnitude before.

Perhaps one of the two Hogwarts teachers who had seen his living conditions could help. Maybe their head of house, Professor McGonagall? Or Flitwick, the teacher that Harry was closest with – the only other person who knew Harry’s other secret: mage sight.

All she knew was that she wanted to see Harry for herself to dispel the terrible images in her mind. Would he look any different? Would he still look like the boy she’d known at Hogwarts? Fred said he looked starved. What the hell did that mean?

She wasn’t sure of all the emotions that coursed through her, but rage was one that stood out from the rest like oil in water. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Harry had told her about some of his occlumency exercises and how they helped him with self control. She thought some of the breathing exercises he’d described could help her control her anger.

She’d been trying to replicate the mind-clearing exercises all summer to little success. She doubted she’d succeed now but tried, nonetheless. She didn’t want to lash out at her friends again like she’d done to the twins.

In the darkness under her eyelids, her thoughts flashed across her mind.

“Clear your thoughts,” Harry’s voice echoed in a memory as he tried to coach her into entering what he dubbed the ‘Nothing.’

The sound of his voice brought him to the forefront of her mind. Vivid images, real and imagined, appeared before her. A small, skeletal little boy curled up inside a broom cupboard that was barely large enough for him to lay in, holding a doll of Babbitty Rabbit that was missing its head. A boy laying in his sorry excuse for a bed asking why his friends never wrote him any letters.

The rage that filled her was unquenchable, and her attempts to stamp them down were for naught.

Her imagination gave way to memories. First, she saw Harry in the hospital, sobbing as he clung to her. Then she saw him on the Hogwarts Express, trying to hide his obvious emotional turmoil. Realisation hit her like icy water from Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Had he been afraid of returning to the Dursleys? Was that why he’d been so reserved on the train? Was he mentally preparing herself for the abuse he would be subjected to?

How could she have been so blind?

The guilt bloomed from within the rage, giving her mind a new subject to latch onto. Arguments with her parents and her friends replayed in her head. Angry gestures she’d immediately regretted and hurtful words she’d never meant. Fred and George’s outraged expressions when she’d called them bad brothers burned into her mind before morphing into Katie.

“I see you won’t even talk to Harry, but you’ll still use his goggles,” she relived her own words. Each syllable, accentuated by the shock and hurt on Katie’s face, cut into her like a knife. The loud clunk when Katie threw her goggles into the locker nearly made Alicia flinch.

Her mind latched onto Katie and the memories changed direction, reliving their two years of friendship. She revisited their first meeting at Quidditch tryouts, when the tiny first year had claimed she would “make the team or die trying.”

She stopped trying to control her thoughts, and rewatched the first time she’d seen Katie cry: when Davies made those comments about her being undeserving of her chaser position. The first time she’d seen the girl cry of laughter: when Angelina suplexed Oliver after practice one time. The last time she’d seen her cry of laughter: at the end of year feast when Angelina turned golden.

Her memories latched onto Angelina next, and her favourite memories with her best friend flashed by.

“Angelina Johnson. I’m also trying out for chaser. What’s your name?”

“Alicia, right? We were at tryouts together. Wanna pair up for the term?”

“You’re telling me you could convince Hagrid to shave his beard, o silver tongue, but you couldn’t get Snape to perform a basic human courtesy?”

“Hey, he’ll wake up soon. Madam Pomfrey will have him right in a jiffy and you can yell at him to your heart’s content.”

“Of course, I bloody care if you and Katie talk to each other. You’re my best friend; I hate seeing you like this!”

Then her mind went blank.

Darkness surrounded her, but she wasn’t lucid enough to process it. It was peaceful, but she wasn’t aware enough to feel it. Surrounding her was nothing. Now she understood why Harry called it that. She felt a moment of humour at the thought.

A thought.

She was ripped out of the darkness and her eyes shot open. She slumped forward on her desk and gulped large mouthfuls of air. The sunlight in her room was blinding and she blinked spots out of her vision as she readjusted.

A laugh bubbled out of her. She did it! It had taken her over a month, but she’d done it.

Excitedly, she unfurled Harry’s letter and added a brief note at the end. She cackled as she put the quill down. Then, she had another idea, and she kicked herself for not having thought it up before.

She scribbled one last line at the bottom of her letter.

P.P.S. When are you and the Weasleys going to Diagon Alley?

Chapter Text

Oliver Wood winced as the quaffle hit him in the knee. The bright red ball bounced off his knee guard and he caught it. He threw it back to Kotelnikov, who flew back around and attempted another shot. Oliver twisted on his broom, smacking away a shot on the far hoop, forcing Delman to dive to catch it. Three more shots glanced off him before he finally let one in.

He landed, and Kotelnikov and Delman joined him on the grass. The three boys clasped arms and shook hands.

"Sixty-three seconds and fifteen shots blocked against two chasers with no defenders," Kotelnikov's thick Eastern European accent made him hard to understand at times. Still, Oliver could tell the older boy was impressed. "That is not bad, Wood. Not bad at all."

Oliver nodded. "Thanks, I suppose. Good to know the past month hasn't been for nothing."

Delman snorted, his voice carrying the slight nasal lilt that was indicative of German heritage. "I would hope so. My papa would be furious if all the money he spent to send me here was for nought."

Kotelnikov grinned. "Well, when you are attracting all the scouts over at Beauxbatons, I am sure it will feel worth it, da?"

"I suppose you are right," Delman grinned back. "When we are all facing against each other in the Euro League, I'm sure it will feel worth it."

"Cheers to that," Oliver raised an imaginary goblet in the air as the three boys left for the changing rooms.

The boys emerged in the common area, where the rest of the Quidditch boot camp was gathered. Instructors passed between groups, offering compliments and goodbyes as the teenagers mingled.

Oliver exchanged farewells with the few friends and acquaintances he'd made at camp, before joining the other Britishers at the portkey to London. He found an open stretch of the long rope and held it. Once everyone was accounted for, a camp employee touched it with his wand and Oliver felt a jerk as if he were being hooked from behind his navel.

There was an intense spinning sensation, and Oliver stumbled and collapsed onto the hardwood flooring of the Leaky Cauldron. He bid farewell to the other campers and nodded to Tom the bartender before walking to the floo.

He internally groaned, seeing the congestion around the only fireplace in the pub. He approached, hoping to jostle his way through, when he noticed the people crowding the fireplace all had red hair.

The Weasleys spoke to each other in hushed, frantic voices. Mr. Weasley looked at the floo nervously before swishing his wand – a weasel made of silvery mist came out the end and ran out the back door that Oliver knew held the entrance to Diagon Alley. The twins and Ron looked uncharacteristically serious, and even Percy's usual severe countenance was marked with worry.

Oliver tried not to think about Percy, as he knew where his train of thought would lead. He had avoided thinking of her the entirety of the summer and was making progress getting over it. He didn't think dwelling on her would be conducive in any way.

He approached the twins who brightened when they saw him.

"Captain!" exclaimed the twin he'd long since learned to identify as Fred. "What brings you to this little hole-in-the-wall establishment?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I was heading home when I saw you lot blocking the entrance. Anything wrong?"

"Oh, about that," Fred winced. "We sort of lost Harry."

"You lost Harry?" Oliver repeated slowly. "What's he doing with you lot? I thought he couldn't visit. Also, what do you mean, you lost him?"

"Oh yeah, you don't get mail at that camp of yours," George shook his head. "Oliver, you are very behind on the times, my friend."

Oliver frowned as the twins recounted the events of the last few weeks. "A house elf? That's new. And what's this about Harry's relatives?"

The twins exchanged a look. Fred shifted uncomfortably. "You know how Harry mentioned that he and his relatives don't get along? We think they mistreated him. We saw a little makeshift bedroom under the staircase. We think they made him sleep down there."

Oliver's jaw clenched, but George chimed in before he could say anything. "Hey, look – there's Alicia and Katie."

Oliver turned around to see two of his chasers behind them. Edward, his uncle and Katie's father waved from behind the rapidly approaching girls. He waved back, surprised.

"Oliver! I didn't know you were back from camp," Katie punched him in the arm in greeting. He pulled her into a headlock and ignored her cry of outrage, opting to greet Alicia instead.

"Had a good summer so far, Spinnet?"

"Not too bad," Alicia shrugged. "I've had the house to myself for the most part – Bradley is staying with a friend in London to be closer to the ministry, and Mum and Dad are always at work."

"That sounds dreadfully boring," Oliver grimaced. Alicia shrugged again.

"What are you doing here? Also shopping?"

He shook his head. "I was waiting to use the floo when Fred and George told me they lost Harry."

He turned to the twins. "Still haven't told me what that means, by the way."

Katie stopped struggling and looked at the twins. "Whaddya mean, you lost Harry? You haven't even gone into the alley yet."

"He got lost in the floo," George said, and Katie gasped. "He didn't mispronounce anything too badly – he probably just skipped a grate or two. Maybe he's snooping around the back of Zonko's or something."

Alicia's eyes narrowed. "Should we go look?"

At that moment, Uncle Edward, who'd been talking to the Weasley parents, ushered them into the alley. Oliver reluctantly released Katie from the headlock and followed the large group.

"Does anyone have something of Harry's? Or perhaps something he gifted you?" asked Uncle Edward.

"Oh," Alicia quickly pulled off her bandanna and unclasped the little broomstick pin. "He gave me this last Christmas."

"Recent enough – that should work. Thanks, Alicia," Uncle Edward took the pin and performed a complication wand motion over it before floating runes appeared in front of him. It wasn't a language Oliver recognised, though that wasn't saying much, considering he'd never taken Ancient Runes. Edward nodded. "That's good. He's nearby. Definitely within the alley."

Oliver saw the other adults visibly deflate. His uncle returned the pin to Alicia, who promptly clasped it to her bandanna before tying her hair back.

"Let's go find him then," Alicia said, and the twins nodded eagerly.

Mrs Weasley glared at her identical sons. "We can search for him, but you two—" she pointed at the twins. "If I find even one of your toenails touched Knockturn Alley, I will have you degnoming the yard and cleaning out the chicken coop for a month straight."

"Yes, mum," the twins intoned mournfully. Oliver suppressed a snort. Very few people could cow the twins, and it was a glorious sight to witness whenever it did happen.

The team separated from the rest of the party. His uncle dragged a complaining Katie to a dentist, promising she could spend the rest of the day with her friends after her check-up.

"So, what was that about Harry's relatives?" Oliver asked the twins, and Alicia looked at them sharply.

"You told him?" Alicia asked, and Oliver felt a spark of outrage at the disapproval in her voice.

"Do you not trust me to know?" he asked frostily. Alicia shook her head.

"No, no, that's not it. Harry really looks up to you, and I know you – and the rest of the team – only have his best interests at heart. I just – I think it's not our place to go around telling people," Alicia shrugged. "I mean – I get why you wrote me, Fred, and I'm glad you did, but at the same time, it's not something Harry would want people to know."

Oliver deflated. "I suppose you're right. Sorry for snapping at you."

"We all trust you, captain. Don't worry about it," Alicia smiled and patted him on the shoulder. She turned to the twins. "Who else knows?"

"The four of us and Ron," Fred said. "Flitwick and McGonagall were there, so I'm pretty sure they know."

"We mentioned to Mum that they were starving him – not a lot of specifics, though," George frowned. "I don't think she took us seriously."

"Well, let's keep that between us then," Oliver said, nodding at Alicia. "We'll help how we can, and let Harry tell the others whenever he feels he's ready."

Fred and George nodded. Alicia suddenly cried Harry's name, drawing the attention of the three boys.

Oliver saw the tiny black-haired boy turn a corner, followed closely by Hagrid. He saw Harry turn at the sound and gasp at the sight of the chaser. The two broke into a sprint and collided into a hug in the middle of the street. He was surprised to see Harry's open display of affection but even more by the tears running down Alicia's cheeks.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She whispered. "I didn't know… Why didn't you say anything?"

Harry's elation turned to confusion, and Oliver had the feeling he knew what she was referring to.

"Come on, you two," he gestured to the twins. "Let's go find the others and let them know we found him – Alicia, Harry, meet us at Quality Quidditch."

He got an absent nod from the reunited friends and dragged the twins off.

A few minutes later, Oliver found himself in Quality Quidditch Supplies after getting the Weasleys to call off their search. He was reading through the information pamphlet for the Nimbus 2001 when the doorbell chimed.

He glanced over and saw Alicia and Harry enter the store. Tucking the pamphlet in his pocket, he made his way over.

"Is that the reigning Hogwarts Quidditch Champion, Harry Potter?" he stage-whispered as he shook the boy's hand vigorously. "I'm such a huge fan, Mister Potter."

"Merlin, are you Hogwarts Quidditch Champion Oliver Wood?" Harry asked with wide eyes. "I've always wanted to meet you."

"Well, all your dreams are coming true," Oliver twisted an imaginary moustache.

"Boys," Alicia rolled her eyes. "We're in public. Behave."

"Yes, ma'am," Oliver and Harry chorused, saluting with identical grins.

"Oh, how badly I want to jinx you both right now," she grumbled. "Just you wait till we're back at Hogwarts…"

Oliver shook his head and dragged his younger friends deeper into the store, prattling off different facts he'd memorised about the Nimbus 2001. Harry soaked in the information, staring at the top-of-the-line broom with awe, while Alicia looked supremely bored.

Half an hour had passed before Alicia reminded Harry that they'd come back to do shopping for school, not to look at brooms. When Harry grudgingly allowed her to drag him out of the store, Oliver decided to call it there and return home. He waved goodbye to his two teammates and returned to the Cauldron. Thankfully the floo terminal was empty, so he got to the fireplace without much delay.

"Mum? Dad?" Oliver called when he stepped out the other side. The only response was silence. His shoulders slumped and he let out a long breath he'd been holding since that morning. He collapsed into an armchair in his living room and stared into the fireplace which still glowed green. He watched the embers turn back to their natural shade of red and orange. He closed his eyes, humming to the tune of a Weird Sisters song as he processed the events of the day.

His fingers dug into the plush armrests as he remembered the twins' words.

Harry had been mistreated – abused. He tried to reconcile the witty, clever boy with his mental image of an abused child. He couldn't. He supposed that only showed that victims came in many forms.

Still, there were signs in hindsight. He could see now, Harry's scars that ran far deeper than the one on his forehead. Harry's aversion to touch, and his propensity for self-blame. The way he expected betrayal and abandonment at every turn.

His immense relief at just being accepted.

What seemed like an insecure pre-teen now looked like something far more insidious.

He felt responsible for all his players, and the guilt of letting Harry's suffering slip through the cracks gnawed at him.

Another reason to feel incompetent.

Oliver watched the dying embers of the fireplace and tapped his fingers against the armrest. That familiar black feeling bored away at his insides. It always came back. The only way to make it go away was to distract himself – with his friends or Quidditch – but the moment the curtains were drawn, and he had a moment of solitude, the feeling always returned. It was an oddly juxtaposed feeling – somewhere at the crossroads of a scalding cup of tea travelling down your throat and feeling overwhelmingly numb.

Then the fireplace roared a brilliant emerald green and an older woman stepped out.

"Oliver!" she exclaimed, and he rose to hug her, a smile plastered back on his face effortlessly.

"Mum! You're home!"

Harry Potter lay in bed that night feeling awfully giddy. He'd gotten to see his friends today! Katie, Alicia, and Hermione, and even a surprise appearance from Oliver. He was still bounding with energy from the trip, full of that unfamiliar warmth he always seemed to have after spending time with his friends.

He closed his eyes and steadied his thoughts, entering the Nothing. By now, it was nearly unrecognisable to the dark expanse it had been when he'd first begun his occlumency training. Now, it was more akin to a starry night, with the vast expanse of memories, good and bad, dotting the sky like an interweaving constellation. A cluster of unprocessed memories banded together almost like a moon. They were the deceiving pearly white that all unprocessed memories were. These were the memories that were too difficult to process — the memories from his childhood.

He cast those aside – he didn't care to organise them. He wanted to block them out and pretend they never happened.

Instead, he sorted through the day's events, reliving much happier memories. Sadly, the first memory he found didn't start out all that fun. He watched himself in the dingy antique shop, peeking out from the cracks in the cabinet. He watched Malfoy's father haggle with the shopkeeper and got his first sight of Knockturn Alley. Then he ran into Hagrid and was hurriedly escorted out of the shady street, and back into the main alley. Then, he heard his name.

"Harry!" A feminine voice called behind him. The voice was startlingly familiar, and he turned around. He first noticed the golden broomstick pin glinting in the sunlight. The second was its owner nearly running to him. He matched her stride and met her in the middle.

His arms met around her middle with desperate, relieved strength. Relief from having his fears of abandonment proven wrong. Her very presence was proof that he hadn't been wrong to believe in his friends. She had stayed, just like he thought she would. And even though he'd already known this after reading the letters Dobby withheld, knowing and hugging the concrete proof were two very different things.

Then he felt wet tears on his shoulder and froze. Was she worried he'd gotten lost somewhere dangerous? Was she angry he hadn't written? He'd explained in the letter, and she seemed to understand.

Then again, the Dursleys hadn't had much patience for his 'excuses' either.

"Why didn't you tell me? I didn't know… Why didn't you say anything?" she whispered between heaving breaths.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused. She scanned him over, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Your aunt and uncle – the twins told me how they found you," she confessed, and Harry stiffened.

"It's nothing," he said blandly. She frowned.

"Harry –"

"It's nothing, OK?" his words came out sharper than intended and she flinched. His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

"It's okay," she said unsteadily. "I won't force you to talk about it – just remember that I'm here for you, ok? So is the rest of the team – Ron and Hermione too. If you ever need us, you need only ask, Harry. We're all here for you."

He nodded weakly and they walked in silence in the general direction of the Quidditch shop.

"I'm sorry about not writing," he mumbled.

"'S not your fault," she shrugged. "I thought maybe you were in some secret base where you weren't allowed mail. A house elf, though? That caught me off guard, I can't lie."

Harry's lip quirked. "That is a little odd, isn't it? I thought you lot forgot about me or didn't want to write me or something."

"Oh, Harry," Alicia hugged him again, and he revelled in the warmth. "We all care about you and very much want to write you. I missed you this summer – I met with Angelina and Katie twice and all Katie would talk about were different plots to break you out for Quidditch."

Harry snorted. That sounded like her all right. "Thanks."

"Anytime," she smirked and ruffled his hair. He swatted her hand away playfully, and they both smiled at the familiarity of the routine.

In the Nothing, the memory was assigned to friends, Alicia, Oliver, Fred and George, relief, anxiety, and warmth. The next memory picked up after he and Alicia split up from Oliver. The duo found themselves outside Flourish and Blotts, staring in horror at the huge crowd.

They waded through the customers of the bookstore.

"Why's everyone here as old as Mrs Weasley and a girl?" Harry asked Alicia as he dodged a cursing man with a camera. "Especially during Hogwarts shopping season."

"There was a poster outside that said Lockhart was having a signing," Alicia wrinkled her nose. "Likely his entire fan base showed up."

"Lockhart?"

"I forget you grew up with muggles," she shook her head. "Lockhart's a celebrity. Wrote a bunch of books that middle-aged women especially just eat up. He's something of a Casanova. A bunch of girls my age fancy him too."

"What about you?" Harry asked innocently, a teasing gleam in his eye. "You're a girl your age. You don't fancy him?"

Her face twisted like she smelled something foul. "Not my type. He's too..."

Harry peeked through a gap and saw a man signing books at a desk. He laughed at the words of a woman around Mrs Weasley's age, and his shiny blond curls bounced in a way that Harry found very artificial. He smiled – blinding and with a little too much teeth – and the woman swooned. Then he turned away and surveyed the crowd. His gaze crossed Harry before turning back and staring with a slack jaw.

Obliviously, Alicia gestured and pointed through the gap in the crowd. "See, he looks like a ponce."

The crowd quieted as Lockhart looked at him and Alicia, and the latter flushed as every nearby woman turned and glared at her. Then a hushed whisper carried through as the crowd's gaze turned on Harry, who fidgeted uncomfortably and shifted behind the older girl. It was for nought as Lockhart himself stood up and strode to them, with the crowd parting like the Red Sea around him. Lockhart grabbed Harry's arm, and the young boy flinched as the famous wizard's ironclad grip felt painfully reminiscent of Uncle Vernon.

Alicia tried to get to him, but the crowd closed around them as Lockhart returned to the middle with Harry in tow.

"My, my, if my eyes don't deceive me – Harry Potter!" Lockhart brandished Harry to the cheering crowd like some kind of prize. He tried to wrench his arm out of the older man's grasp, but he was surprisingly strong.

Lockhart pulled Harry into a pose for a reporter, who took their picture with a blinding flash. A gobsmacked Harry blinked away spots from his vision as his head hurt, in an overwhelming sensation remarkably similar to activating his mage sight in the Palace of Light.

"I've been sitting on this little secret for a while now," Lockhart winked at an old, grey-haired woman whose knees gave out beneath her. "But I feel now is the perfect time to announce it."

Lockhart looked at Harry, and the younger boy saw a predatory gleam in the older man's eyes. He mumbled quietly enough that only Harry could hear, "Between you and me, we'll surely make the frontlines. Don't you agree, Harry?"

He opened his mouth to say something crude that would get him into trouble with Mrs Weasley or Hermione but Lockhart didn't let him, turning back to the crowd.

"My good witches and wizards – when young Harry came to Flourish and Blotts today, he did so with no greater desire than to purchase a copy of my latest novel and autobiography, but little did he know, he and his classmates would be getting a taste of the real Magical Me! Yes, my dear witches and wizard, I have accepted the Defence against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts!"

Harry stared at Lockhart; abject horror etched into his face.

"For being such a dedicated fan, young Harry will also be leaving with signed copies of my full collection – free of charge!" The crowd cheered as Lockhart shoved a stack of books into Harry's arms and posed for one last picture before shooing him off.

Harry stumbled back to Alicia who was watching him with a mix of outrage and amusement. She glared at the back of Lockhart's head before smirking at Harry. "How was your five minutes of fame, Harry?"

He made a rude gesture, and she snickered. They navigated the crowd, searching for an open area to breathe. They found one near the back-to-school section. They let out sighs of relief as their crushed feet cried from the newfound freedom.

The freedom didn't last long as Harry was suffocated by the infamous Hermione hug. He stiffened and felt a moment of panic before Alicia, sensing his distress, squeezed his shoulder.

It's not the Dursleys. It's not the Dursleys. It's not the Dursleys.

The mantra repeated in his head as he forced himself to relax. When she pulled away, she seemed none the wiser to his emotional turmoil.

Alicia's hand left his shoulder.

"Harry! It's been so long! You didn't respond to your letters, and we were ever so worried!" She rambled, just barely on the edge of coherence. "And we got here, and Ron said you'd gotten lost in the fireplace, and they nearly called the Ministry – did you know that the Ministry regulates all floo travel? How fascinating! How do you think they track who goes in and out? Some kind of tracking charm? Or maybe a –"

"Hermione, darling, let the boy breathe. He looks like he's been through a storm," Olivia Granger gently pried Hermione away, receiving a grateful smile from the dishevelled boy. "Harry, dear, how have you been? Have a good summer?"

"Could've been worse," Harry responded vaguely, not meeting the older woman's eyes. He didn't miss the way they narrowed at his answer.

An awkward silence settled over the group, promptly broken by another familiar voice.

"Harry!" The veritable ball of energy that was Katie Bell thankfully didn't hug him. The reason became obvious as the giant cage half her size rattled as the eagle owl within flapped its wings. "Look what Dad got me!"

"Whoa," Alicia commented from behind him. "That's wicked. What are you calling him?"

Katie pointed to a spot on the bird's head, where its feathers were discoloured in the vaguest facsimile of a lightning bolt.

"There's no bloody way," Harry mumbled.

"I'm calling him Green Lightning!" Katie grinned. He facepalmed as the owl squawked in approval.

"At least he seems to like it," Alicia mumbled, covering her laughter with her hand. He glared at her. She snickered.

Katie stared at them, nonplussed. "I'm kidding. His name's Algernon. Why would I name my owl after this prat – he didn't even wish me a Happy Birthday."

"Today's your birthday?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Nope," she grinned at his exasperation. "It was in July – on the thirteenth. Still didn't get me a present though."

"A house elf was stopping my mail," Harry pointed out.

"I missed the part where that's my problem."

He rolled his eyes.

"July thirteenth, got it," Harry mock saluted. "I'll get Hagrid to find you a dragon for next year."

That was assuming the Dursleys let him get any writing done next summer.

"Yeah, I think I'll pass," Katie said dryly. "I think I saw an ice cream parlour. I'm sure I can be convinced to forgive you over some mint chocolate chip."

"Katie, stop extorting the poor boy," said an older man with Katie's sandy blonde hair as he approached the children. "I'm Katie's father. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Harry."

"Nice to meet you too, sir," Harry shook the older man's hand.

"None of that sir nonsense," Mr. Bell waved him off. "Call me Edward. I feel like I've already known you forever given how much my daughter talks about you. Katie spent all of Christmas break last year telling me about how you're so much nicer than she thought you would be."

Harry pinked, but it was nothing compared to how red Katie got.

"Dad!" She hissed angrily. He snickered.

"What do you mean, nicer than you thought I would be?" He asked in mock outrage.

"I expected you to be a big-headed little snot, Mister Boy-Who-Lived," she said innocently, shrugging off her father's disapproving look.

"That's more Lockhart's forte," Harry said and received angry looks from Hermione and Katie.

"Lockhart isn't big-headed!" Hermione said hotly and Katie nodded vehemently. "He's a very accomplished wizard and our professor."

"Don't remind me," Ron grimaced. "Bloody hell, imagine listening to that peacock for a whole year."

Harry nodded solemnly and Alicia snickered. The other two girls' glares only intensified.

"You know, we never talked about your owl, Katie," Alicia said sanctimoniously before the girls could explode on the boys. "What kind of name is Algernon? Did your owl also storm Normandy against Grindelwald?"

Katie looked over her shoulder to see that her father wasn't looking her way, before making a rude gesture. Alicia returned it with gusto.

"Potter the celebrity," a young, male voice sneered from behind, and Harry scowled. He turned around and glared at Draco Malfoy. "Can't even go into a bookstore without making the front page. Do you enjoy it, being paraded around like a unicorn?"

Harry's scowl deepened and he started a retort but was interrupted. Not by Katie and Alicia, who glared at the Slytherin when he announced his presence, but by Ginny.

"He didn't ask for that!" She said, squeaking when Harry and the others looked at her with surprise. Malfoy sneered.

"Look at that; you've got yourself a little girlfriend, Potter!"

Ginny turned the same colour as her hair.

"Just because no girl will touch you with a ten-foot pole doesn't mean you have to be so jealous," Katie said sweetly, batting her eyelashes in the picture of innocence – at least, to anyone who didn't know her.

Malfoy flushed and began what Harry was sure was a scathing retort, but his jaw clamped shut when the silver snakehead of a wooden cane came to rest on his shoulder.

A man who could only be Malfoy's father sneered down at the teenagers, his gaze lingering on the Grangers the way someone looked at a pile of rubbish tossed on the street. He threw around some insults with Mr. Weasley and effectively provoked him into a fight. What Harry was sure Malfoy didn't expect was for Mr. Weasley to tackle him into a bookshelf.

It was a spectacle, with the kids all cheering for Mr. Weasley while Mrs Weasley yelled at her husband to back off. Ultimately, it took Hagrid appearing out of nowhere and physically prying them apart to get them to stop. The Malfoys stalked off after a parting jibe.

Harry didn't remember exactly what he'd been thinking when he dumped his full set of Lockhart books into Ginny's arms. It was rather rude of him. Thankfully, neither she nor the rest of the Weasleys seemed to hold it against him.

The memory ended, and Harry retreated from the Nothing. He stared at the moonlit shadows on the ceiling in Ron's room as he laid in his conjured camp bed. The shadows shifted and Harry blinked, his vision coming awash with colour.

Spells layered upon each other, from the protective charms on Scabbers' cage to the very wards that held the Burrow aloft. Harry noticed with satisfaction that the cage seemed to be awash with magic – the protective spells he'd gotten on it must be rather powerful. Money well spent if you asked him.

He spared the cage no more than a cursory glance, staring up at the ceiling where a cacophony of wards and charms intermingled in an odd tessellation of energy. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking, but Harry thought he saw a fiery red shimmer and glinting spots of green.

He pushed away that train of thought, which unwittingly pivoted to the beginning of that last memory. It only served to make him feel worse. Alicia's wounded expression when he snapped at her was burned into his eyelids like the camera flash in Flourish and Blotts.

Wherever you go, only ruin follows, spoke the high, sinister hiss in his mind. Its voice was lulling and entrancing, despite its venomous intent. First your parents, then your friends. When will their suffering be enough?

Harry clamped down on his thoughts, forcibly shutting them out. He forced himself to fall asleep, but his slumber was restless.

His eyes opened to blinding white and he groaned. He looked around his chambers and saw he was alone. He hadn't been back here since his mother had departed. He left his room, walking the hallway to his training room, his feet dragging with every step.

He pushed the large birchwood doors open, crossing the room with familiarity. As he approached, he noticed someone sitting inside the gazebo. The woman was engrossed in a book, and Harry initially thought Luna had come to speak with him.

As he drew closer, he recognised the woman's silver hair. She wore a flowy white sundress and a floppy white hat with a wide brim. He stood at the lip of the gazebo, drawing her attention.

She looked up from her book and smiled—her grey eyes shone like mercury in moonlight.

"The poet of apprehension, Patricia Highsmith," she said, gesturing to her book. Her voice was strong and gentle. "Brilliant writer. Non-magical, of course. I find that magic has made wizardkind rather… complacent with the written word. At least compared to their mundane counterparts."

She nodded to herself, contemplative. "Something about the powerlessness of the mundane existence stirs the imagination in ways that magicals have long forgotten. It is rather tragic that your kind no longer imagines for the sake of imagining. Perhaps there is not much use for such trivialities when anything you could possibly imagine can instantly become reality."

"Theia," Harry breathed, awe colouring his words.

"Yes, Chosen," the Light Mother smiled. "You know, normally when people meet a goddess, they bow."

Harry started and bowed awkwardly. Theia chuckled.

"I said most people – you are not most people," she put her hands on his shoulders and brought him to eye level. Her hands were cool. Comfortably so, like the glass windows in cars and trains that you fall asleep on. "You are my Chosen– you are family."

Harry smiled, hesitant. "Family, yeah."

Theia stood and gestured for Harry to follow her. She strolled into the small garden behind the gazebo.

"Luna tells me that your training is progressing at an excellent pace," the goddess stood by a white flower and plucked it from the stem. She smelled it and smiled. Then she gently closed her hands around it and brought it to her lips. She muttered under her breath in a language he couldn't understand, and light slipped through the cracks between her fingers. She opened her pale hands and within them laid a silver bracelet with a white lily charm.

"She also told me how devastated you were to say goodbye to your mother," the bracelet floated from her hand and clasped around his wrist. The charm jingled softly. "I imagine you would enjoy a keepsake. Something to remind you of her. A reminder to live life to the fullest and bring pride to this house. Live your life so well that –"

"So well that it's enough for three lifetimes," Harry finished, nodding with shining eyes. He surreptitiously wiped them off on his sleeve, under the guise of admiring his new bracelet. "T-thank you, milady. This means a lot."

"You are welcome, Chosen," Theia nodded before turning back to the path. "I believe that my favoured, Nicholas, has reached out to you with an offer of tutelage?"

"Yes ma'am."

"You will accept, of course," she instructed. "He will teach you ways of magic long forgotten. Magic that this bracelet will help you harness. What you will study goes beyond spells. You will apply the theory that your mother taught you to shape magic, in its purest form, to your very will. This is ancient magic, and I expect you to treat this with the respect and discretion it is due."

Harry nodded, and she seemed to notice despite not looking in his direction.

"Nicholas will teach you everything you need to know to become a fully realised Chosen of Theia. By your fifteenth birthday, you will have completed your training and been knighted by me. Nicholas and you will work out the specifics of your studies, I am sure."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry nodded resolutely. "Because of you, I got to know my mother – I will make you proud."

She turned around and appraised him critically. She nodded and smiled. "I believe that, Chosen."

Harry smiled shyly.

"Now, you must return to the real world," Theia clasped her hands together. "You must await correspondence from Nicholas. I presume you know the way back to your quarters?"

Harry nodded and, recognising the dismissal, left the room. He returned to his chambers and tucked himself into bed. Once more, he forced himself to fall asleep.

Images of a singular flower permeated his dreams for the rest of his slumber. The petals changed colour between red and white and couldn't seem to settle on one. A red petal would turn to white, and another red petal would fall off. Then, a white petal would turn red, and a white petal would fall off. As the final petal turned from red to white, Harry was jolted out of his slumber.

He rose early the next morning feeling rather unsettled. The lurid orange wallpaper (and the many similarly coloured flags, posters, and other adornments) burned his tired eyes. Ron's loud snoring assaulted his ears.

He laid claim to the bathroom before anyone else and took his time getting ready. He stared at his thin face in the mirror and rubbed at the lines under his eyes, stifling a yawn. His hand came to cover his mouth, and he noticed the silver bracelet on his hand. The white lily glowed slightly, as if in greeting.

His lip quirked upward.

From downstairs, he heard pots and pans clanging and crashing as they soared through the air, preparing the breakfast fare.

"Hullo, Mrs Weasley," he said as he sat in the kitchen. "Would you like some help?"

"Good morning, Harry dear. And no, I'm almost done here," Mrs Weasley smiled at him before pointing to the counter. "There was a letter for you this morning."

Harry jumped out of his seat excitedly and grabbed the expensive parchment. He frowned at the nondescript wax seal – he'd been hoping for the Hogwarts crest.

Harry Potter,

We will begin in September.

May the divine light guide you,

Nicholas Flamel.

Harry whistled under his breath and tucked the letter into his pocket, trying to hide his disappointment.

"Waiting for your scores, dear?" Mrs Weasley asked as she slid him a glass of pumpkin juice. "You're looking a lot like Percy was when he got his OWLs last week."

"Thanks, Mrs Weasley," he sipped the sweet beverage. "And yeah, I was hoping the professors would've sent them over by now."

"These things take time," she said sagely. "Back when I was in school, Professor Binns didn't return Lisey Hoodwinkle's History exam till next October. She still got the highest score in the class."

"Do you think they forgot?" Harry asked absently. "They must be busy…"

Mrs Weasley laughed. "No, no. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall have been doing this far too long to simply forget. Try not to think about it, Harry. I'm sure you did fine."

He nodded stiffly. Percy came down the stairs, followed closely by the twins. Harry noticed the mischievous looks on their faces as they trailed their older brother, who watched them with narrow eyes.

"I'm going to wake Ron," he pushed back his chair. "He'd never forgive me if he missed breakfast."

Mrs Weasley let out an exasperated sigh, then nodded. He winked at the twins as he walked past.

"Good luck," he mouthed, and the twins grinned wide. Harry shook his head before climbing the stairs. He entered his and Ron's room and frowned at the sleeping redhead. He looked around, searching for a fun way to wake his best mate. His eyes landed on a small, orange replica of a cannon. Harry hypothesised it had something to do with Ron's favourite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons. A small grin appeared on his face, and he activated his mage sight.

Harry instantly screwed his eyes shut. He opened them again slowly, re-entering his enhanced vision. The hues of the magic surrounding him were so much sharper. Details of the charms around him that he hadn't been able to discern just last night stood out like a sore thumb. He eyed the protection charms on Scabbers' empty cage. An unbreakable charm was combined with weather-resistance enchantments. In the past, he'd had to touch an object to discern its magical properties, and it'd taken him a few seconds. Now, it was instant and didn't require contact.

Harry looked down at his bracelet and frowned. The white lily charm glowed white, matching the symbols on his hands that travelled up his arms.

He blinked away the mage sight and the magical colours faded to the bright orange of most things in Ron's room.

The charm no longer glowed but felt warm against his skin. He focused on that sensation, reactivating his mage sight. The warmth intensified, and Harry felt shimmering white magic pour from the bracelet into the pores of his skin. It became one with him, strengthening his senses.

Harry grinned. He made a mental note to thank Theia profusely the next time he saw her.

Reactivating his mage sight, he refocused on the cannon. It glowed a dull blue – it was charmed to make some sort of sound and puff out smoke. He could make an educated guess as to what that sound would be.

Harry picked up the cannon and held it right next to Ron's ear. Biting his tongue to stifle his laughter, he pushed against the charm on the cannon, triggering it.

KABOOM!

A loud bang like a – well, like a cannon firing – filled the bedroom, and an orange plume of smoke exploded out the barrel. Ron shrieked and tumbled out of bed, knocking the cannon out of Harry's hands as he passed.

Harry clutched his stomach as he rolled with laughter. He sat on Ron's bed as the other boy sat up, untangling himself from his orange duvet that had bright red quaffles printed on it.

"Good morning," Harry grinned.

"Oh, sod off, wanker," Ron grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "What in Merlin's name was that for?"

"It's nearly noon – I thought I'd have some fun waking you up."

Ron made a rude gesture and stomped over to the bathroom across the hall. Harry yelled into the closed door, "Don't take too long, otherwise breakfast will go cold."

He only got incoherent grumbling in response. Harry snickered as he went back downstairs to the rest of the Weasleys.

"Oh, good morning, Ginny," Harry smiled awkwardly at the youngest Weasley, who'd peeked out of a room at the commotion. "Breakfast's ready."

She turned, saw him, and squeaked out an incoherent response before running down the hallway into another room.

Harry blinked and frowned. Wasn't that Percy's room? He shook his head and continued walking.

Downstairs, the twins and Percy ate in silence, with the latter glancing suspiciously at his identical younger siblings. Mrs Weasley smiled when Harry turned the corner and fixed him a plate. He thanked her enthusiastically before gorging himself on delicious fried eggs, veg, bacon, and sausage. When he first arrived at the Burrow, he found he couldn't stomach as much food as he had at Hogwarts. He'd learnt that the hard way when, in an I-can-eat-whatever-I-want euphoric state, he'd eaten far too much and had later retched violently into the toilet. Now, he was getting back to eating full, healthy servings, though Mrs Weasley did try to coerce him into going back for seconds.

She thought he was far too thin for a growing boy and pegged him for a picky eater. He didn't disabuse that notion.

Down the stairs came Ginny, who adamantly refused to look anywhere in his direction.

As he chewed on a particularly large mouthful, he glanced at Percy, who seemed unbothered as he sliced his sausage into neat, bite-sized pieces.

He looked at the twins who only winked at him. It was very disconcerting watching two identical people wink at the same time, each closing a different eye.

Harry's musing was interrupted by the haphazard flutter of wings. A barn owl landed on the windowsill, dodging pecks from an irate Hedwig, who seemed to have claimed the Weasley household as her territory. Hedwig allowed Errol, the Weasley owl, to remain largely out of pity.

Mrs Weasley took the letter from the owl and read the address. A line of cold sweat ran down Harry's back when she glanced at him.

Wordlessly, she handed him the letter and Harry shakily unsealed it. His eyes widened as they roved down the page.

A relieved laugh bubbled out of him.

"Well?" Mrs Weasley prompted, a smile playing on her lips. Considering how anxious Harry had been the past few days, everyone, excluding perhaps the twins, was curious about his results.

"Outstandings in Defence, Transfiguration, and Charms. Acceptables in Herbology and Astronomy. And – and Exceeds Expectations in Potions," Harry said in disbelief. "I got an EE from Snape."

"Bloody hell, mate, you got the greasy bat to give you an EE?" Ron came down the stairs still yawning, though his surprise mirrored Harry's. "At least all that time you wasted studying during the summer was good for something."

Ron wrinkled his nose, and Harry shook his head exasperatedly.

"Ronald Weasley, you mind your language else I'll clean your mouth out with soap," Mrs Weasley scolded. Ron blanched and mumbled an apology. "And you'd do well to be more like Harry. If you studied harder, you might have passed Potions like he did."

Ron's ears turned red, and he sat quietly next to Harry.

"Sorry you got yelled at because of me," the dark-haired boy said quietly.

"Wot?" Ron asked through half an egg. He only half swallowed before continuing. "What're you apologising for?"

Harry frowned. "Nothing."

Ron shrugged before turning back to his plate. Harry picked at a stray tomato slice. Watching Ron get scolded because of Harry's scores reminded him eerily of the Dursleys. It reminded him of how his aunt and uncle would punish him if he did better than their precious Dudley.

Harry had thought Ron would feel similarly resentful – that Harry was unfairly upstaging him. Instead, Ron simply hadn't cared. He didn't know what to make of that.

While he was lost in thought, he absently noted Percy excuse himself. A few minutes later, a loud screech was heard from upstairs.

"FRED, GEORGE, WHY IS MY PREFECT BADGE PINK AND COVERED IN GLITTER."

Harry snorted and ducked his head, watching the twins get scolded by their mum. Ginny buttered her toast, looking innocuous – too innocuous. He met her gaze and gave her the slightest incline of his head. She smiled brightly despite the blood that rushed to her face.

Not for the first time, he reminded himself these weren't the Dursleys. They were something much, much better.

Chapter Text

"I've been thinking," Oliver said as he stood in line for the sweets trolley. "Practicing drills and whatnot can only do so much."

Standing in front of him in the line, Hartley Summers nodded, her shoulder-length brown hair bobbing with the motion. "Agreed, I was running out of ways to keep things fresh by last June."

He nodded enthusiastically. "Right? So, I was thinking we should run scrimmages between the teams."

"You want to create some kind of scrimmage alliance between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor?" Summers raised an eyebrow, her pale blue eyes shimmering with curiosity.

"Yes, but I was thinking we could get the 'Claws involved."

"And the Slytherins?"

Oliver grimaced. "Them too I suppose, but I'm not talking to Flint."

Summers laughed. "I imagine that wouldn't go over too well."

He shrugged, a sheepish smile on his lips.

"I'll talk to Flint, you get Samuels?" She offered before turning to the trolley lady. "Three pumpkin pasties and two sugar quills, please."

"Does that mean you're in?" Oliver grinned. She smiled at him, before rummaging in her coin pouch.

"Yeah. It sounds fun," she exchanged a couple of knuts for the sweets. Oliver quickly followed suit, exchanging a sickle for a bag of cockroach clusters.

The two captains walked down the carriage together in comfortable silence. Oliver opened the package and popped the tart sweet into his mouth. Summers sucked on the end of a sugar quill, humming a tune that Oliver was sure would get stuck in his head.

"Sugar quill?"

He looked down to see her holding the sweet out to him.

"Uh, sure," he took the quill from her hand. "Thanks. Cockroach cluster?"

"Never had it before. I'll try it, I guess," She took a candy out of the bag and popped it in her mouth. Her face scrunched up with dawning horror. "Ew. Is that actual cockroach?"

Oliver laughed and nodded, leaning against the glass window of a compartment. She stopped and crossed her arms, glaring at him. He laughed harder.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you didn't know what cockroach clusters were. They're a classic!"

"Beats me," she shrugged, her lips quirking into a smile. "They're nasty."

He raised his hands in surrender, "To each their own."

Silence settled over the two before Hartley cleared her throat. "That's my compartment there – behind you."

Oliver pushed himself off the glass. "Oh, sorry! Apologise to your friends for me. I imagine they were a little traumatised seeing my arse pressed against the glass that whole time."

"I'll let them know to thank you for the show," Hartley snorted, slapping his shoulder as she passed. "See you around, Oliver."

He waved before turning away, whistling along to the familiar tune that, as he'd predicted, rooted itself firmly in his head.

He traversed the carriage, chewing on fudge flies and glancing through windows for interesting happenings. He stumbled across the compartment with his chasers and slid the door open.

"Ladies," Oliver grinned, leaning against the door. "Good summer?"

"You saw us two weeks ago," Alicia pointed out. Katie snickered.

"Aha, but I didn't get to see my lead chaser and the brightest witch at Hogwarts," Oliver rebutted. "Angelina, Hermione."

He tipped an imaginary hat in their direction. Then his eyebrows creased.

"Speaking of– where's Harry? Usually, he's attached to you two at the hip," Oliver jerked his chin at Hermione and Alicia. "Are he and the twins' little brother off having some alone time?"

Katie looked nauseous and Hermione looked mortified. Oliver facepalmed.

"I didn't mean it like that – get your mind out of the gutter, Johnson!"

Angelina flipped him a thumbs up but continued snickering. The laughter faded, and anxious silence settled over the compartment.

"We don't know where they are," Hermione worried her lip between her teeth. "I didn't see them on the train. I thought I'd wait for them, but Katie saw me sitting by myself and brought me here."

Oliver frowned. "I'm sure you just missed them. They'll turn up, I'm sure. You know how Harry is. He probably got himself adopted by a coven of vampires and is flying behind us as a bat."

Alicia shook her head and smiled wryly. "That's bloody stupid."

Oliver shrugged and grinned. "Try not to worry too much. Also, guess who I was just talking to?"

"I dunno, Cornelius Fudge?" Katie snarked. Oliver ignored her.

"The Hufflepuff captain," Oliver started, receiving groans from Katie and Alicia.

"We're not even at Hogwarts yet; can we leave the Quidditch talk for later?" Alicia begged.

"You're going to want to hear this, I promise." Oliver insisted. Katie sighed and Alicia resignedly gestured for him to continue. "Alongside our usual drills, we'll be having scrimmages against the Hufflepuff team – and if I can convince Samuels, we can scrim against Ravenclaw too."

"Scrimmages, huh?" Angelina looked impressed. "More game time will be beneficial, I'm sure. Great idea, captain."

Oliver preened, "I've been known to have those."

"Yeah, once every leap year," Katie said dryly, eliciting a round of laughter. Oliver made a rude gesture. "Oi! What would Aunt Mary say, you Blibbering Humdinger."

"A what?" Angelina guffawed and Oliver tried to look offended, though he was more confused than anything.

"A Blibbering Humdinger," Katie repeated slowly. "What, you haven't heard of those before?"

Hermione frowned. "I haven't read about Blibbering Humdingers before – are you sure they're real?"

Katie nodded and Hermione's frown deepened. Oliver knew his little cousin well enough to notice the subtle twitch of her brow – she was holding back laughter.

"Oh, yes," she nodded in earnest. "I read about it in a magazine on magical creatures. You know they're allergic to radishes? Apparently, in places where they're common, people wear radish earrings to ward them off."

Hermione nodded, and Oliver imagined he could see the gears turn in her brain. Then Katie grinned.

"Got you!" She cackled at Hermione's bewilderment. "Blibbering Humdingers aren't real. They're from the Quibbler – but everyone knows the Quibbler is just make-believe!"

Hermione's jaw went slack, then she whacked Katie with her book furiously. The older girl warded her off, giggling the whole time.

"I hate you," Hermione grumbled, crossing her arms angrily. Katie grinned wider.

"No, you don't," she countered automatically before frowning. Oliver looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Inside joke between Harry and I," she clarified, and Hermione's frown joined hers. Oliver sighed. Despite their best efforts, he got the feeling his seeker's disappearance would weigh heavily on the rest of the train ride.

"Cockroach cluster?" He offered to the two girls, and Katie shook her head vehemently. Hermione accepted reluctantly. He and Katie laughed at Hermione's nauseated expression when the peanut-flavoured coating wore off, leaving the taste of cockroach in the younger girl's mouth.

The rest of the train ride oscillated between tense silences and contrived attempts at levity. Oliver and the chasers greatly enjoyed Hermione's reaction to seeing the self-pulling carriages for the first time. They found a carriage, with Katie draping herself over Oliver and Angelina to fit everyone.

"How soon do you think we can hold practice?" Oliver asked as the carriage began its usual route to the school.

Alicia groaned, "Again, we're not even in the castle yet,"

"Right, but the sooner we can get back into shape, the sooner I can ask Hartley for a scrimmage."

"She's Hartley now?" Alicia waggled her eyebrows. "Not Summers anymore?"

"She calls me Oliver, only feels right that I do the same," his eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at, Spinnet?"

"Nothing," Alicia said, her eyes wide in what she probably thought was an innocent look. He thought she looked like an owl. Katie snickered.

He nudged his cousin with his knee. "Don't you get started. I'll shove you out of this carriage before you can blink."

"Bloody tyrant," Katie groused. "Won't even let me laugh now."

The tension in the air was forgotten as Oliver and the girls turned a particularly sharp bend and got their first sight of the castle. Even to a wizard raised teen like him, that first glimpse of Hogwarts was always a treat. They shuffled out, greeting Professor McGonagall as they found their places at the Gryffindor table. The twins joined them, laughing and joking as they always did. The previously missing anxiety returned tenfold because of the two empty spaces between them and Hermione.

The sorting went by in a blur. Oliver clapped dutifully whenever a firstie joined his table. The twins cheered and hooted when their little sister was sorted with them. The tiny redheaded girl ducked her head in embarrassment as she found her place among her fellow first years at the end of the red and gold table.

After the sorting, platters and dishes of every conceivable food appeared along the table and Oliver allowed himself to get sucked into the mid-meal chatter. As the dishes were replaced by a wide assortment of sweets and puddings, a hush fell over the hall. With his mouth full of bread pudding, Oliver looked up.

Harry and Ron stood awkwardly at the doors, flanked by McGonagall and Snape. The professors returned to the staff table and the two boys approached the Gryffindors. Seeing Harry blanch as he laid eyes on Alicia and Hermione's matching glares, Oliver put down his fork and prepared himself for one hell of a show.

"Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, where have you two been?" To Oliver's surprise, Hermione beat Alicia to the punch. The boys paled further, and Ron grimaced.

"Merlin, 'Mione, you sounded like my mum for a second there."

Hermione glared with crossed arms as the two boys joined her at the table.

"Ooh, treacle tart," Harry said, reaching for the dish. His hand stilled en route as he looked at Alicia sitting across him with a raised eyebrow.

"Hi, 'Licia," Harry said a little too brightly as his empty hand withdrew like he'd caught a flame. "Good to see you again."

Her expression didn't shift.

"Would you like a slice?" Harry asked, and Oliver smothered a laugh. Still no change.

Harry sighed, "Right. I'm sorry we weren't on the train. The barrier didn't work."

Alicia's expression shifted into confusion, mirroring the rest of the team (and Hermione). Harry explained how he and Ron had gotten locked out of the platform, and that they'd taken a flying car of all things to school.

Oliver desperately wished he had popcorn as he watched Harry and Ron receive the dressing down of a lifetime from Alicia and Hermione.

"This is golden," Katie whispered to him. He snorted and nodded, entranced by Ron's rapidly reddening ears.

"Taking a flying car to school – these two must really like it here," Fred whispered to Oliver and Katie with exaggerated disgust. He must've spoken louder than he'd thought, as the still-angry Alicia and Hermione turned their heated gazes on him.

He held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, ladies. Ignore me. Continue your yelling."

"Well done, brother of mine," George patted his twin on the shoulder.

"Sod off," Fred shoved George. "You're just cross I'm better looking than you."

"Better looking – we're identical!" George shoved Fred back.

"How about now?" Fred flicked his wand with a muttered incantation, and Oliver watched as George's skin turned bright orange.

"Why you –" George cast a spell, turning Fred's hair a bright, neon green. "Who's uglier now?"

"Still you," Fred flipped imaginary hair over his shoulder with a flourish, before turning George's hair the same colour. "I believe I look rather fetching."

"Keep telling yourself that, you delusional bastard," said George as he turned Fred's skin to match his.

"If I'm a bastard, then so are you," Fred said triumphantly. Katie facepalmed, and Oliver held back laughter. Angelina caught his eye from further down the table. Her face was screwed up as she smothered her laughter.

"Bloody oompa-loompas," Hermione grumbled. Katie snorted.

Angelina's lip quivered and Oliver's nose twitched. They made eye contact, and promptly broke into raucous laughter, soon joined by the rest of the table in varying volumes.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Oliver took a glance around the table. Harry and Ron looked far less distressed, though Oliver had to stifle a snort at the latter's nauseated expression. Alicia and Hermione still looked somewhere in the intersection of worried and incensed, though the twins' antics had taken the wind out of their sails. Oliver watched Alicia angrily cut off a thick slice of treacle tart and plop it on Harry's empty plate. She glared at him when he thanked her. Oliver shook his head fondly at the confusion on the younger boy's face.

The next morning, Harry sat in the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione. Ron had only finished his first slice of toast when McGonagall came down with their schedules.

"Weasley, show some decorum!" She admonished, her lips pressed thin as she watched Ron eat. "Your food will not grow legs and run away from you."

Harry suppressed a snicker at Ron's glowing ears. The redhead pointedly looked away from Hermione, who he knew would be looking rather smug.

"Sorry," Ron mumbled. McGonagall looked at him with disapproval before turning to Harry and Hermione.

"Potter, are you alright?" She raised an eyebrow. "You look… strained."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, struggling to maintain a straight face. "Just… showing my disapproval of Ron's habits."

McGonagall shook her head exasperatedly before walking away. Harry could've sworn he heard her grumble, "Just like his father."

"Traitor," Ron said. His ears were dangerously red now.

Harry laughed and Hermione sniffed.

"Honestly, Ronald. You had it coming. How long have I been telling you to be mindful when you eat?"

Ron rolled his eyes and looked at his schedule while spooning eggs into his mouth.

"Bloody hell," he groaned between a mouthful of eggs. Only a year's worth of living with the other boy had helped Harry understand him. Looking down at his identical timetable, Harry found Ron's sentiment was justified.

"Potions, first thing in the morning?" Harry said, aghast. "At least we've got Charms and Defence to finish the day. That'll be fun."

Ron scrunched his nose at the thought that any class could be fun. "Don't get too excited, mate. Defence is with Lockhart."

Harry groaned and banged his head against the table.

"I'm going to die," he whined.

Hermione shook her head, exasperated. "Professor Lockhart can't be that bad. Look at all the things he's accomplished –"

"If he's even actually done any of them," Ron said darkly.

Hermione huffed, "You haven't even been in class with him yet and you're already calling him a fraud?"

"Does he really look the type to fight off an entire coven of Vampires, Hermione?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Does Professor Dumbledore look the type to defeat Grindelwald, Ron?" Hermione retorted. Harry conceded that she had a point, though Ron didn't seem to care. He sighed and tuned out his best friends' bickering as they made their way down to the dungeons.

In the Entrance Hall, Harry watched with amusement as Katie nearly sprinted down the stairs clutching a half-closed bag in one hand. She waved – as well as one can while fully running down a staircase while trying to close their bookbag.

"Late start?" He called as he waved back with amusement. She shouted a hurried affirmative as the doors to the Great Hall closed behind her.

The humour of the encounter lasted all the way to the dungeons, where the cool draft and a sense of foreboding permeated the air. Harry's good mood evaporated as he, Ron, and Hermione lined up outside the potions classroom.

The second years filed into the classroom, and Harry and Ron took their usual seats near the back while Hermione sat next to Neville. That was the unspoken arrangement the four friends had arrived upon. While neither Ron nor Harry were exactly prodigious at potionmaking, Neville was a downright liability. Pairing the resident genius with him seemed like the best way to keep everyone safe from Snape's wrath or a disastrous potions accident.

The feared professor strode into the classroom. His cloak billowed behind him and Harry wondered whether there was a charm that made it sway in such a dramatic manner. Surreptitiously making sure no one was paying attention, he activated his mage sight and was sorely disappointed to find that the only magic on Snape's cloak was a simple dust-repellent charm.

Boring.

Snape turned at the front of the class, and his lip curled in distaste. Harry held his breath, cycling through all the information in his potions textbook that he'd memorised. He didn't want to be caught off guard by the cruel professor, so he endeavoured to learn the year's potions work in advance. He'd gotten a little carried away and had also devoured the rest of his books.

It wasn't his fault his occlumency meant he didn't need as much sleep. He had been awake late at night in the Burrow even after everyone else was asleep - what was he supposed to do?

Merlin, he was starting to sound like Hermione.

His schoolwork was much more interesting when he tied it to the magical theory his mum had taught him as part of his Sensomagy lessons.

Anyway, Harry's attention returned to the classroom and Snape. Thankfully, the professor hadn't noticed him spacing out.

"Welcome back," Snape drawled, his eyes raking over the classroom as he paced. "To your second year of potions. To my abject surprise, most of you managed to pass your exams."

Snape lingered on the Gryffindor side of the classroom, but to Harry's surprise, avoided him entirely.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," the professor smiled humourlessly. "It is not often that students exceed my expectations, as pitifully low as they may be."

Harry blinked. Had Snape just said something complimentary? As backhanded as it may be.

Perhaps he'd been staring for too long, for Snape turned and glared at him. He ducked his head, and thankfully, Snape didn't single him out.

The class went by in a blur. Snape didn't call on Harry, mock his potion, or interact with him at all, really. In fact, Snape seemed to be deliberately ignoring him.

As the saying went, he wouldn't look the gift Hippogriff in the mouth.

A small part of Harry wished Snape would have called on him. He would've liked to see the look on the greasy old bat's face when Harry answered every question flawlessly. After all, he'd known the answer to all the questions he'd directed to Zabini, Greengrass, and Hermione.

The much more sensible part of him recognised that there was no winning with Snape, who probably would've accused Hermione of helping him or found some other way to discredit him. Still, it would've been nice to show off a little, now that he had something worth showing off.

After potions, Herbology was dreadfully boring. Despite the intriguing lessons on the magic of living beings, Harry really didn't care for plants. He was good at taking care of them – years of garden work for Aunt Petunia had seen to that – but he couldn't bring himself to find much joy in repotting mandrakes as they had done that day.

Lunch rolled around and Harry found himself sitting between Oliver and Angelina, who were loudly discussing Quidditch strategy. From across the table, Alicia and Hermione gave him sympathetic looks as he nodded along to the fourth chaser formation Oliver suggested, only for Angelina to shoot it down as inefficient.

"When's our first practice, again?" Angelina asked, and Alicia and Katie glared from across the table.

"Why would you remind him, you right berk," Alicia hissed.

"Because I like Quidditch and enjoy practice?" Angelina retorted. "Isn't that why we're all on the team?"

"Well, I wasn't given much of a choice," Harry piped up.

"Shush, you," Alicia rolled her eyes. "We all know you love Quidditch more than anyone except maybe Oliver and Angelina."

Oliver nodded stoutly. "And no way am I letting anyone who flies that well off my team."

Harry preened. "So, when's practice, captain?"

Alicia groaned. "Morgana, someone says one nice thing to you, and you fold, Harry. You're supposed to be on my side!"

Harry shrugged and pointedly turned away to look at Oliver.

"Oliver?"

The older boy shook his head with a wry grin. "I never thought the day would come when you lot would ask me about practice, and I would have to say that I don't have one scheduled."

The team, and even Ron and Hermione, stared in pure shock.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Oliver?" Katie asked, wide-eyed.

"It's the first day!" Oliver exclaimed, outrage pitching his voice up half an octave. "McGonagall hasn't even given me your timetables yet. What am I supposed to schedule around?"

"You're the captain extraordinaire," Alicia said.

"Figure it out!" Angelina finished. The two girls grinned at each other and bumped fists from across the table.

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Does tomorrow evening work?"

"It's the second day!" Alicia sputtered.

The captain shrugged. "You told me to figure it out, so I did. You got anything going on then?"

Katie, Harry, and Angelina shook their heads, and Alicia muttered some uncouth phrases before shaking hers as well.

Oliver grinned.

"Oi, Fred, George!" He yelled down the table. The twins, who were sitting further down with their best mate Lee Jordan, looked up.

"Yeah?" Fred yelled back.

"Practice tomorrow evening. Don't be late!"

The twins gave Oliver a thumbs up before turning back to their plotting.

With that sorted out, Harry and the team returned to their lunch. Hermione shook her head, mumbling about Quidditch fanatics under her breath while Ron listened to their strategy talk with a keen ear.

After lunch was their third class of the day. As always, Harry looked forward to charms. Professor Flitwick had them review the previous year's coursework. Harry and Ron looked at each other with wide grins when the professor commended Ron for his flawless levitation charm. Hermione rolled her eyes though she too was smiling.

He was on autopilot for most of the class. Between his occlumency and his summer reading, he had no trouble casting each spell the professor asked for. After class, Flitwick asked Harry to stay behind and told him they would be having their first duelling lesson on Friday evening.

An excited Harry joined his peers outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Nervous energy buzzed among the second years as they traded increasingly dramatic theories about their first lesson with the celebrity professor.

The door swung open, and the class shuffled in. Whispers broke out at the sight of a tarp-covered cage sitting ominously on the teacher's desk. Harry too got caught up in the excitement as he found a seat near the back with Ron. Hermione insisted on sitting in the front row, and neither he nor Ron wanted to attempt the perilous task that was changing her mind.

"What do you reckon is in there?" Harry asked Ron lowly as he dropped into his chair.

"Dunno," Ron shrugged, though there was a glint of curiosity in his eye. "Maybe Lockhart will show us something from one of his books."

Harry shrugged. He'd read Lockhart's books cover to cover, and he felt they were better suited for a fiction novel than a school textbook. Jogging his memory, Harry couldn't really remember anything from the books that would be conducive to a classroom setting.

He was brought out of his musing when a side door in the front of the classroom swung open with a dramatic creak. Out stepped the man Harry had seen at Flourish and Blotts. He flipped his wavy blond hair out of his face as he strutted to the centre.

He gestured to the numerous portraits that adorned the classroom that Harry, curious about the tarp, hadn't noticed. He noticed with distaste that the portraits were actually self-portraits. Tens of identical blond faces with dumb grins that showed too much teeth looked back at him from the canvas.

That small spark of excitement was doused like a candle wick against a tsunami.

"Me," Lockhart said dramatically, winking at the front row, which was almost entirely female. Poor Neville was late and had no choice but to join the professor's adoring fans. Harry snickered at round-faced boy's sour expression as Lockhart crossed him.

"Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award," he gave the class what Harry was sure he thought was a charming grin. Privately, Harry thought he looked like he'd just gotten kneed in the knob. "But I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her."

"You could've if you tried, you tart," Ron mumbled, and Harry snorted. He covered his mouth hastily as the professor looked back at him.

"Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts," the wizard stopped pacing and turned, his face now comically serious. "In this class, you will learn to combat the darkest of creatures. But fear not, for nothing in this class can hurt you while I am around. For more details about my accomplishments, refer to my full, published works."

He smiled 'reassuringly', and Harry felt like throwing up.

"But before we truly get started, I would like to see how well all of you have read your new textbooks," Lockhart smiled before handing Megan Jones a stack of tests to hand out to the rest of the class.

When he got his hands on a piece of parchment, Harry scowled deeply. The test was three pages long, with fifty-four questions, and not a single one was remotely related to DADA.

He snidely thought the test was a joke. He contemplated not bothering to complete it. Regrettably, due to his occlumency, he found he could remember answers to a number of the questions.

He wondered what his mother would do. Would she quietly complete the test like he was sure Hermione would, or would she storm out of the classroom in a fit of rage? He couldn't imagine the Lily Potter he knew doing either of those things.

What would James Potter do?

Harry grinned and put his quill to the parchment, scribbling away as Ron complained next to him.

1. What is Professor Lockhart's favourite colour?

A. Black. To be worn to the funerals of all who've died of boredom reading his books.

2. What is Professor Lockhart's ideal birthday present?

A. Bleach for his teeth.

3. What is Professor Lockhart's secret ambition

A. To make it on the front page of Witch Weekly as an underwear model.

Some creative thinking later, Harry made a satisfied nose as he reread his responses.

Lockhart collected the papers and marked them, making a show of tutting for each incorrect answer. A particular test had the professor's eyebrows raising higher and higher up his forehead. A vein bulged in his temple and Harry had an inkling of whose paper was being graded.

He smothered a snicker, looking out the nearby window innocently when Lockhart looked up at him with clenched teeth.

"Young Harry, stay after class, please," Lockhart said with the face of someone sucking on a lemon, and Harry nodded reluctantly.

The rest of the class was nothing short of chaos. Lockhart unveiled the cage to reveal Cornish pixies. Seamus just had to run his mouth and challenge Lockhart, and the professor foolishly let the pixies loose on the class. Thankfully, between Hermione's quick thinking and Harry following her lead, they managed to wrangle the pixies back in their cage, though he was sure Neville's neck would be sore from when the pixies hung him from the chandelier by his shirt collar.

Of course, in the commotion, the professor who'd boldly claimed to protect them from any harm had fled into his office and barred the door.

"I suppose that means you don't have to stay after class," Ron mused, eliciting a grin from the dark-haired boy. "What did you do to piss him off anyway?"

"Let's just say I left some interesting answers on that quiz," Harry said, much to Hermione's consternation.

"You really shouldn't have done that, Harry," she said disapprovingly.

"Maybe. No use crying over spilt milk," he shrugged as he made for the door, followed by an ecstatic Ron and a grumbling Hermione. "Want to go back to the Tower? I think I'll leave the homework for after dinner."

"It's the first day, Harry," Ron made a disgusted face.

"I just want to get it out of the way," Harry shrugged. "Once Oliver gets going, Merlin knows I'll have no free time. Plus, this way I get more time on the weekends."

"Hermione's a terrible influence on you," Ron shook his head at the bushy-haired witch on Harry's other side, who glared at the redhead.

"Ignore him, Harry. I, for one, think your proactivity is a great thing," she said, though her tone belied she was still incensed at his disrespect toward their professor.

"Thanks, 'Mione," he smiled at his best friends. It was great to be back at Hogwarts. The trio discussed Harry's quiz answers on their journey back to the castle. Ron found the whole thing hilarious, and Hermione looked increasingly displeased.

"Wattlebird," Ron said absently as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady. The picture shot him a dirty look, grumbling about manners being a dying art, before swinging to the side, revealing Gryffindor Tower.

Harry gravitated toward the corner that had quickly become his, Ron's, and Hermione's. He flopped into an armchair, his rucksack falling heavily to the floor next to him. Ron let out a long sigh as he collapsed onto a loveseat, draped across the entire thing. His bag fell to the ground with a considerable thud and Harry hoped an inkwell hadn't shattered inside. Hermione rolled her eyes and carefully placed her bag at her side before sitting down, book already in hand.

Ron had hardly badgered Harry into a game of chess when Katie entered the common room and perched on the arm of his chair.

"Hullo," she greeted, watching with morbid curiosity as Ron's knight sent Harry's bishop flying off the board.

Harry nodded absently, focused on the game. When he last went to Diagon Alley, he'd picked up a few books on chess from Flourish and Blotts in the hopes of learning to hold his own against Ron.

He'd memorised most of the openings and moves but still couldn't beat Ron's mind for improvisation. He supposed even near-perfect recall couldn't beat God-given talent.

"McGonagall wanted to see you," Katie continued, smirking at the way all three first years gave her their undivided attention.

"I told you, you shouldn't have antagonised Lockhart," Hermione said smugly.

Katie looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow, "You did what now?"

"Long story," he sighed and stood up. "I'm sure Hermione will gladly tell you all about it. How angry did she seem?"

She shrugged. "Not too bad but you know how McGonagall is – you can never really tell."

Harry nodded before standing and stretching. Katie promptly stole his seat.

"Hermione, guess what," she said excitedly, already forgetting his and Ron's existence. "You know how I was late to breakfast today? I was a little late to Care of Magical Creatures and Cedric saved me a seat!"

"I thought Cedric was a year older than you?" Hermione asked curiously.

"He is, but he switched from Arithmancy to Care of Magical Creatures so he's in my third-year class."

"Ooh, did you speak to him at all?"

Harry and Ron exchanged disgusted looks that clearly said, "Girls."

"Yeah," Katie said dreamily. "I asked to borrow a quill." She pulled a dull, greyish-blue quill out of her robes and held it reverently. "He said he had some extra so I could keep it!"

Hermione squealed and Ron mimed throwing up. Harry laughed and excused himself. He left the common room for the Transfiguration corridor. He knocked on the door, opening it after receiving a muffled sound he took as permission.

Professor McGonagall sat at her desk. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun, tucked under a large, green wizard's hat, and she peered at him through half-moon glasses, perched on the tip of her nose.

"Potter, come in," she spoke, her voice clipped and stern as was the norm. "Have a seat."

She gestured to a rickety old chair in front of her desk. Harry obliged, shifting uncomfortably as the unyielding wood hurt his rear.

Professor and student sat in tense silence. The former let the latter stew as he flipped through every possible misdemeanour for which she might punish him.

McGonagall pushed a small tin toward him.

"Have a biscuit," she said, and Harry blinked.

"Pardon?"

"I said to have a biscuit," she repeated, and he could've sworn her lip twitched.

He accepted the tin, and the lid opened with a pop. Crumbly, golden-brown shortbread lay inside. Harry tentatively took one and popped it in his mouth, enjoying the smooth, buttery texture as it dissolved on his tongue.

As he ate the biscuit, he watched the professor warily. Her gaze was critical, scanning his form for something – guilt perhaps? If so, Lockhart sure worked fast.

He was already due detention later that week because of the flying Ford Anglia, so he hoped she'd go easy on him. Who was he kidding – this was McGonagall, the professor who'd taken one-hundred-and-fifty points for breaking curfew. She wasn't the type to go easy on anyone, though he thought she'd been rather lenient about the flying car situation.

He wouldn't be the one to mention it, however – something about looking gift horses in the mouth.

"There are a number of things we need to discuss," she said, pushing the essays she'd been grading to the side. "Professor Dumbledore has asked me to escort you to his office before dinner, so we must get all this out of the way before then."

Harry nodded, curiosity overcoming his feeling of foreboding. What did Dumbledore want with him? Did the headmaster too want to ream him out for the Ford Anglia fiasco? He'd gotten quite the earful from McGonagall and Snape. He supposed Dumbledore just wanted to complete the set.

"First, Professor Lockhart came to me just after classes ended. Supposedly, one of my Gryffindors insulted him – on a review test, no less. This doesn't sound like your modus operandi, Potter. Would you like to explain yourself?"

Being given the chance to explain himself. That was new.

"To be fair," Harry began. "I didn't insult him."

McGonagall's lips thinned and Harry braced for his second dressing down in as many days. To his surprise, she sighed and shook her head exasperatedly.

"Every time I begin to believe that you take more after Lily, you remind me James is still in there."

Harry cocked his head. Within him swelled the familiar, prickling warmth that always came when he heard stories about his parents. "Did you know my parents, professor?"

"Indeed, I did," she nodded, her clasped hands resting on the desk. "In fact, your father sat in your very seat more times than I could count. Not under good circumstances, I promise you."

Harry leaned forward in his seat.

"I believe your father and his friends–" her expression darkened momentarily. "–hold the record for the most detentions in the school. I believe you could corroborate that with Mister Filch."

Harry suppressed a snort, "I'll take your word for it, professor."

Her lip twitched, "I thought you might."

She reached into her drawer and pulled out a photograph.

"Back in April, Hagrid asked me for any pictures I had of James and Lily. Regrettably, I couldn't find any to give him at the time. I found this one recently, and I believe you should have it."

She slid the picture across the desk. He turned it over and saw a grinning James Potter looking back at him. The man, with the same dark hair and thin nose that Harry too possessed, held a parchment – a magical facsimile of a diploma – as a younger McGonagall stood next to him, the thin set of her mouth replaced by a tight-lipped smile.

"Your father apprenticed with me for his Transfiguration mastery," she said. "I did not share the same relationship with your mother, but I hear Professor Flitwick has you covered on that count."

"Thank you, professor," Harry held the photograph with shaking hands, looking at it with reverence.

"It is my pleasure, Mister Potter," she nodded, her expression soft – at least by her standards. "If you ever want to hear stories about your father and his exploits, feel free to visit. My office will always be open to my students."

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Before I take you to the headmaster, we have one last matter to address," she said, and Harry heard a hint of humour in her voice as she picked up a familiar piece of parchment. "You cannot disrespect a professor's assignment, no matter how foolhardy it may be. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for disrespecting a professor. And ten points to Gryffindor for creative test responses. Now follow me, we must meet with Professor Dumbledore before dinner."

She strode out of the room, and a grinning Harry followed suit.

He followed the professor down the corridor and up the stairs. They arrived in front of a grey statue of a gargoyle. Harry looked around for a door. His confusion only grew when McGonagall suddenly said, "Ice mice."

Harry jumped when the gargoyle came to life, nodding respectfully at the professor before stepping out of the way. Behind the animated statue was a spiral staircase. He followed his head of house up the stairs and into the office.

Professor Dumbledore's office was exactly what he expected from the eccentric headmaster. Lining the walls were low tables littered with the oddest of knickknacks. Small, silver artefacts and machines of varying shapes and sizes puffed green, red, or blue smoke. In one corner was a tall perch upon which stood a regal bird with red, orange, and yellow feathers that shimmered like rippling flames.

In the centre of the room was a polished, claw-footed, oak desk. Behind which sat the headmaster himself. Dumbledore wore robes of the brightest magenta, dotted with golden stars. In the chair in front of him sat a man that Harry initially thought was a skeleton.

He wasn't far from it though. Stringy grey hair curtained off the man's gaunt face and his skin clung to his skull. The man was incredibly thin, and Harry was reminded of himself at the Dursleys after a particularly extended period without meals. Despite the man looking one foot through death's door, his eyes like cold steel gleamed with immense intelligence.

The man stood up, and Harry was half surprised that his bones didn't creak. He extended a hand.

"Nicholas Flamel, Mister Potter," he spoke with minor French inflexion. His voice like gravel crushed under a lorry. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Chosen."

Harry's eyes were wide as he grasped the proffered hand. His eyes flitted between Flamel, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. The deputy headmistress looked varying levels of confused as the conversation progressed.

"Nice to meet you, sir," Harry said politely. "I was wondering how we would meet in September."

Flamel smiled, his weathered skin stretching thin around his lips.

"The determined wizard will find that he can attain entrance to whatever place he wishes, and very rarely does he need enchantment to do so," Flamel said roughly. Peeking at Dumbledore's sour expression, Harry wondered whether the headmaster was cranky that the ancient sorcerer was outdoing him in the stereotypical wise-old-wizard department.

"Please have a seat, Harry, Nicholas," Dumbledore gestured before nodding at McGonagall. "Thank you for bringing Harry here, Minerva."

The deputy headmistress returned a sharp nod before disappearing down the stairs.

"As I've mentioned to you before, Harry," Dumbledore began, his fingers steepled upon his desk. "My good friend and once mentor, Nicholas here, has offered to take you on as something of an apprentice."

Harry nodded shyly, "I would like that, sir."

Dumbledore started to speak but fell silent as an oblivious Nicholas Flamel clapped his hands and stood.

"Excellent! In that case, I will see you here every Friday evening," Flamel said easily and stood. "If you will excuse me, Perenelle is waiting in our new home, and I must see to her."

Harry was halfway to a nod when he remembered his lessons with Professor Flitwick at the same time. He was torn between standing up to the domineering Flamel and asking to reschedule and the chance of losing out on such a unique opportunity.

The decision was taken out of his hands when Dumbledore interjected. "Actually, Nicholas. I do not believe Saturday morning would be the optimal time for these lessons. You see, young Harry is a part of his house Quidditch team and will have his matches on Saturday mornings. I would hate to see his performance in his athletics suffer as a result of what I am sure will be rigorous training on the eve of his games."

As Flamel fixed Harry with an unimpressed look, Dumbledore gave him a knowing look over the ancient wizard's shoulder. Harry tried his hardest to convey his gratitude nonverbally.

"Surely this is more important than a child's game?" Flamel asked disbelievingly. Harry bristled at the insult to his beloved sport.

"Perhaps, but is that not what he is? A child? He is only a boy, Nicholas, and I would like him to have a childhood. We are in peacetime. We no longer require soldiers. But I digress. I am sure we can come to a sufficient compromise," Dumbledore placated. "How about Wednesday evening? I believe that Harry has History of Magic the following morning. Which, as a class that doesn't require much physical, magical, or dare I say, mental effort," Dumbledore winked at Harry. "He will not be significantly impacted by whatever strain he may receive."

Harry nodded eagerly, and seeing the headmaster and the student band together, Flamel relented.

"Very well, Wednesday it is," the ancient wizard nodded grimly.

"Splendid," Dumbledore smiled. "You should head downstairs, Harry. I do believe that dinner will be any moment now."

"Yes, Professor," Harry stood and made for the door. He turned back. "It was nice to meet you, Mister Flamel."

Flamel nodded curtly and Harry left for the Great Hall, occlumency working in overdrive to process all the information. Excitement and nerves pooled in his stomach as he counted down the days to his first lesson.

He groaned as he thought of Oliver's reaction when he found out that Harry had another day he couldn't come to Quidditch practice.

Chapter Text

Oliver leaned against the goalpost and watched his players run to him. They were wrapping up two laps around the Quidditch pitch, and he was happy to see them looking far less tired than they had been this time last year. He wasn't surprised to see Angelina powering through, barely breaking a sweat, or the twins and Alicia barely chugging along. He was pleasantly surprised to see Katie keeping up with Angelina, though she looked to be at the end of her rope. But what surprised him the most was Harry.

Even last year, Harry had been dedicated to the team, but today, he looked determined on an entirely new level. He passed Katie and Angelina, yelling something behind him that spurred the two older girls to up their pace. He grinned as he came to a stop before Oliver, panting heavily with his hands on his knees.

Oliver raised his hand to pat his seeker on the shoulder but stopped mid-way. He noticed how Harry's muscles tensed and dropped his hand lamely.

"Good hustle, Harry," Oliver smiled, and the second year nodded gratefully before returning to his gasping breaths.

The captain gave the rest of the players a few minutes to breathe before clapping loudly and gathering them into a circle.

"Good work out there. We're already in better shape than we were this time last year," he smirked. "At least this time, you're still standing."

Alicia promptly dropped to the ground. She flipped him the bird from where she was sitting, and he pouted. He tossed each of his players their brooms before wordlessly kicking off into the air. Harry was the first to follow, flying close behind him.

The moment Harry's feet left the ground, an entire lightning storm erupted in his fingertips. He felt the magic surge up his arms and burn through his body as broom and owner reunited after a summer apart – the leftover exhaustion after his warmup was chased out of his system and lost to the ride wind.

He whooped as his broom sliced through the air, the whistle of the wind like a symphony to his ears. His eyes were wide open behind his goggles as he revelled in the weightlessness. The world turned to a blur of green, blue, and grey as he pushed the broom as fast as it could go.

He lapped the pitch with his teammates. The adrenaline wore off after the third lap, and he came to a stop in the centre with a wide grin.

"Having fun there, Speccy?" Angelina was the next person to float to a stop.

He nodded with an infectious grin. "I missed this."

"I thought you'd have gotten some flying in over the summer," Angelina mused. She cocked her head to the side. "Then again, I suppose you can't really fly around in a muggle neighbourhood."

"Yeah, I suppose," he trailed off, confused by the trivial manner with which she discussed his home life. Did Angelina not know about how the twins had found him? He thought Alicia might've told her, best friends that they were.

It was something of a relief if she hadn't.

Harry wasn't blind. He noticed how Alicia, Oliver, and the twins treated him differently. Alicia tried to act normal, but he saw her expression when she thought he wasn't looking. Oliver and the twins were on eggshells around him as if they thought the wrong phrase would send him off the edge.

They looked at him how one looked at a wounded animal.

All he wanted was to be one of them, and for a moment last year, he thought he was. He'd matched the great Charlie Weasley – he won them the championship. He was not only a part of the team but also an equal. Just as important as the girls, the twins, or Oliver.

Just as good as Charlie.

Now, he felt like their little pity project.

He didn't want them to view him any differently. Katie and Angelina – for whatever reason – were not in the know, and they were the only ones who treated him the same as ever. Katie was her ever-cheerful, bubbly, witty self, and Angelina was as boisterous and teasing as ever.

It was the only semblance of normalcy he had on the pitch.

Things were much the same off the pitch, too. At least Ron was normal, even if Hermione behaved a lot like Alicia, with her surreptitious glances when she thought he was distracted.

Harry shook his head and plastered an easy grin on his face as the rest of the team levelled out near him.

Oliver ran Harry and the team through drills, and they were all pleased to find that the summer rust hadn't set in too deep.

His practice regimen started with some snitch chasing. He made laps of the pitch, periodically switching between skirting the edge and zigzagging through the middle. According to Oliver, this would, in theory, help disrupt any chaser formations and keep the opposing seeker on their toes.

He zipped between jutting support beams under the stands, using the opportunity to practice his turns. He relished in the ease with which his broom followed his command after an entire year of acclimating it to his magic.

On his second lap, he caught a glint of gold. When he realised that no, it was not Alicia's hairpin, he pressed himself flat on his broom and willed it forward.

The familiar, addicting sensation of the gale nipping at his face enveloped him as he pursued the snitch. In his peripheral, he noticed a number of red blurs flying in his general direction. He pushed on the nose of his broom, dipping below his teammates.

The practice snitch felt his approach and swerved toward the empty goalposts. Harry swore before rolling to avoid a stray bludger. He ignored the twins' catcalls as he flew between them. He gained on the snitch and reached out his arm. He realised too late that his catch attempt was premature, as the snitch made a sharp left turn toward the announcer's booth. His outstretched arm slammed back onto his broom as he pulled it to the left, making a wide, swinging turn to follow.

Wind, tiny insects, and stray leaves batted against his unprepared face as he made a hasty turn- right into the other players.

For fear of swallowing a mouthful of bug and leaf, Harry suppressed the urge to swear (he was getting far too crass; Angelina was a bad influence) and pushed his broom straight back and up, braking hard as he careened over them.

When he regained control of his movement, he didn't refrain from a few choice words as he searched for the missing golden ball.

A few minutes later, he rose out of a swooping dive with the practice snitch in hand. He frowned as he tossed it back into the air. He had been too hasty. Even with his broom at its full potential, Harry found his decision-making was making him struggle more than last year. He knew it wouldn't be any easier with the real deal. Quite the opposite, really.

Just as he caught the snitch for the third time, the sharp cry of a whistle snapped Harry out of focus.

He returned to Oliver, who had him and the girls run their interception and passing drills. The captain blew the whistle from the goalposts, and Harry turned a blur of scarlet as he flew for the chasers.

Angelina led the girls into a Hawkshead formation with Alicia at the front and herself and Katie on the left and right, respectively. Alicia held the quaffle in a reverse grip—Harry dove between her and Angelina, scattering the formation entirely, and Alicia lobbed a pass to Katie.

She threw the pass straight up before turning sharply to bat the quaffle to her teammate. She underestimated Katie's proximity, however, and the younger girl received a mouthful of Alicia's broom. Because only the bristles hit her,Katie got away with little more than a scratch.

"Maybe we shouldn't try all our fancy tricks on the first day back," Katie said, wiping on her sleeve the thin line of blood on her cheek.

"Stick to the basics," Alicia agreed sheepishly.

Harry returned with the quaffle.

"All right there, Katie-kat?" He grinned as he tossed her the ball.

She caught it deftly before making a rude gesture. "You throw like a baby."

"I'd say you catch like a baby, but infants don't usually eat broomstick for dinner."

"Why you –" she lobbed the ball to a laughing Angelina before chasing after him as he fled, riotous laughter trailing them both.

It took some effort, but Oliver wrangled his players to the middle of the pitch and was giving them a sermon on passing precision.

"Alright, so run the drills again from the top. This time, Fred, George, aim the bludgers at the chasers without the quaffle. It'll be a good exercise on making yourself open. Katie, try to – Katie? Are you listening?"

"Huh?" the girl in question turned back to him with a start. He glared at her, and she

shook her head. "Sorry, but isn't that the Slytherin team?"

Oliver scowled as he saw the seven green-robed individuals march onto the pitch. He gestured for the team to hit the grass.

"Flint," Oliver called as he stomped toward his counterpart. The two captains stared each other down, their respective players behind them. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, Wood," Flint said smoothly, his patronising smirk looking especially grating on his sloth-like build. "We're here to practice."

"Practice?" Oliver ground out. "I have the pitch booked for the next hour."

"The pitch is large enough for both of us, don't you think?" Flint smiled, a malicious glint in his eye. "Besides, weren't you the one who wanted us to practice against each other? At least that was what Hartley was telling me."

"That's different – why would we scrimmage our first opponents?" Oliver asked incredulously. "It doesn't matter either way; I booked the pitch. You can practice later."

Flint tutted. "See, that's where you're wrong. I have a special note from Professor Snape:" The Slytherin produced a scrap of parchment. "He's giving us special access to the pitch, owing to the need to train our new seeker?"

"New seeker?" That was Harry. "Who?"

"Me," a younger, nasally voice said from between the Slytherin players, who parted for him like the Red Sea. Oliver would've found the theatrics funny if he weren't so damn irritated.

"Malfoy?" said an astonished Harry.

Draco Malfoy, a boy Oliver only recognised because of Harry's endless complaining in the common room.

"Surprised to see me, Potter?" the blonde Slytherin smirked.

"Yeah," Harry scoffed. "Surprised you would fly willingly – do you even have enough hair gel to protect you from the wind?"

Malfoy flushed and sneered. "Let's see how much you're mouthing off when we crush you like a flobberworm."

Angelina actually laughed aloud, and Oliver too smirked. Alicia grinned wide. "Higgs was a decent seeker, and you couldn't beat us with him. What makes you think you'll do any better with this obvious downgrade?"

Malfoy sneered, but Flint beat him to the punch. "Using our superior brooms, of course."

That was when Oliver noticed the entire Slytherin team holding brand-new brooms. He couldn't suppress the sharp intake of air when he saw the words 'Nimbus 2001' embossed in gold on the handle.

It was Malfoy's turn to laugh. "Like these? They were a gift from my father to celebrate my making the team."

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way on," said Hermione from behind him, and Oliver jumped in place. When had she gotten there? "They got in off pure talent."

"No one asked your opinion, mudblood."

The laughter that rippled from the red-and-gold contingent died as soon as it began.

"How dare you." Alicia went for her wand, and Oliver grabbed her by the wrist. He turned and saw her looking mutinous. He shot her a warning look, and she glared right back with a clenched jaw. He scanned his contingent, noticing Angelina gripping Alicia's shoulder and muttering rapidly into her ear. Oliver shot her a grateful look before letting go of the dark-haired girl's wrist. Harry and Hermione just looked confused, though the latter looked shaken, with the gait of someone who knew she'd been insulted, even if she didn't know what it meant.

Ron had his wand pointed at Malfoy, who looked momentarily fearful.

"Eat slugs, Malfoy!"

An acrid green flash burst out of Ron's wand, but it didn't fly at Malfoy. Instead, it rebounded onto Ron, who was knocked off his feet.

The boy fell on his arse unceremoniously. He sat up, a dazed expression on his face. He turned an unsettled shade of puce and looked like he'd throw up.

He retched, and Oliver winced. However, it wasn't vomit that came out of Ron's mouth. It was a – slug? Ron retched again, and a second slug joined its brethren, leaving a trail of slime down the second year's front.

Harry and Hermione scurried to their friend's side, insults forgotten as concern took precedence in their minds.

Riotous laughter came from the Slytherin side. Oliver ignored them, opting to keep an eye on his players. It wouldn't do good for them, as students or players, to get detention this early in the year.

Alicia was still fuming, though Angelina's firm hand on her shoulder seemed to be calming her down, evidenced by her wand, which had since returned to her pocket. The twins were ashen-faced, any traces of humour drowned by cold rage. He couldn't find Katie and turned around just in time to see her sink her fist into Malfoy's face.

The pale Slytherin hit the ground like a sack of bricks, letting out a pitiful moan as he clutched at his bleeding nose. The Slytherins roared into action, many pulling their wands out or squaring their fists. He was acutely aware that the Gryffindors, minus Katie and the second years, were doing the same. He kept his hand firmly away from his pocket.

"There's no need for wands," he said calmly, pulling Katie roughly to his side, away from the still-bleeding Malfoy. He looked straight at Flint, handily ignoring the seventh-year's white-knuckled grip on his wand. "This is a Quidditch-related incident. If anyone gets in trouble here, it won't be detention they'll face; they'll get suspended for the first match. None of us want that."

Oliver gestured to Ron, who was still heaving slugs. "You lot got a couple of foul words and a botched spell, and we got a broken nose." He gestured at Malfoy. "I think that's a fair exchange, yeah?"

Oliver stifled a resigned sigh. "And you lot can have the pitch. We were nearly done anyway."

Flint stood in silence with narrowed eyes, and Oliver could almost see the slow cogs turn in the brutish boy's brain. Flint put his wand away, and his players followed suit. Muscles relaxed that Oliver hadn't even known were tense.

"We'll take Ron to Hagrid's. He'll know what to do about this," Harry said, looking at Oliver with a mixture of surprise and awe. "We'll meet you in the common room later."

Oliver nodded before dragging the rest of his teammates off the grass and into the castle. The party of six moved in silence. Katie walked next to him, her face to the floor, curtained by her blonde hair. Alicia and Angelina were close behind them, holding a harsh, silent discussion. The twins trailed behind, speaking in hushed tones.

Just as they rounded the landing that held the portrait of the fat lady, Oliver found an abandoned classroom and pulled Katie inside. He gestured for the others to proceed without them before pulling the door closed.

He turned around and found his little cousin sitting at a desk near the far end of the classroom. She had her head down, and he thought he heard a sniffle.

He approached and sat on the desk opposite her. "Katie…" he began but trailed off. He hadn't planned a speech when he decided he needed a one-on-one conversation with her.

"If you're going to yell at me, just get it done with," she mumbled from between her arms. "I'm sorry I nearly got detention – I'll try not to get suspended in the future."

Oliver laughed. It came out a little sharp, harsh maybe. "You think I'm mad about that? Katie, I don't care about Quidditch," his lip twitched at the mumbled "liar" from the girl. "You could've gotten hurt. Flint and Bole combined probably know more dark curses than all of Gryffindor put together. And you punched Malfoy – you know his dad's a bigwig in the Ministry. Imagine what Uncle Edward will have to deal with because of this."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause problems for anyone," Katie said weakly. "It's just – that's such a vile thing to call someone. Hermione did nothing to deserve that. And it reminded me of – remember before first year when Dad took us back-to-school shopping?" Her head came up, and Oliver's heart broke at the tear tracks staining her cheeks. "Nott Senior came up to Dad and said he needed to back off an investigation – that a mu-muggleborn like him needed to know his place. I dunno. I just couldn't sit and watch again. I – I needed to do something. I couldn't just watch Hermione get called that like I did with Dad."

Oliver slid off the table and knelt before Katie. He held his arms out, and she leant into his embrace. "It's all right, I get it," he said slowly, stroking her hair. "Merlin knows I was angry, too. Just – think it through next time, yeah?"

She nodded into the crook of his neck and let out a watery laugh. She extricated herself from his embrace and rubbed at her eyes, trying desperately to wipe away the red.

"I guess it's a good thing we had practice," she said conversationally. "I would've looked a lot worse if I'd worn my mascara."

Oliver made a face. "I'll never understand you girls and your makeup."

Katie snickered and made for the door.

"I think Fred and George are plotting revenge on Malfoy and the Slytherins," Oliver said as they hopped through the portrait hole into the common room. "Let's see if we can't get a couple of ideas in."

Katie grinned, and Oliver noted with amusement and a touch of trepidation the shark-like resemblance. "Let's."

He shook his head fondly. He almost pitied Malfoy. Almost.

As the weeks burned by, Oliver quickly realised he was losing his players' interest during practice. They went through each drill with the diligence he'd come to expect from them. After each practice, Harry was catching the snitch with increasing efficiency, and the chasers were making good progress on their passing form. He was certain they would be back in tip-top shape by the first game.

But they were bored. Merlin, so was he. And wasn't that something? Oliver Wood, bored by Quidditch.

To be fair, he wasn't bored of Quidditch- just the repetitive drills. It really was outrageous, all the practice they did, just for three games.

That was why he found himself in the library. Not a place he frequented outside of the rare research or exam cram session.

He dropped loudly into a chair, giving Madam Pince an apologetic smile as it creaked a little louder than he expected. Opposite him, Hartley Summers was slouched over a book. Her chestnut hair was tied back in a ponytail as she chewed on her bottom lip, irregularly scratching notes down on a loose scrap of parchment.

Oliver tapped the page of her book with a finger, and she looked up with a startled glance, relaxing when she recognised him.

"Merlin's soggy boxer shorts, why would you scare me like that?" she glared.

"I could not have been more unsubtle if I came in here with a bloody erumpent horn," Oliver said dryly, raising an eyebrow. "Also, do I want to know why Merlin's got soggy boxer shorts?"

Hartley grinned. "Not if you want to stomach dinner."

He sniffed haughtily. "I just came back from Quidditch practice; I don't think anything could keep me from my dinner."

"Well, you see. When a man really likes a woman…" Hartley began with a shit-eating grin.

"Nope, nope, nope. Not hearing this from you," Oliver said quickly, covering his ears. He winced as Madam Pince glared at him around the corner again.

She covered her mouth as she laughed. "Not that I'm not glad for your company, but did you need something from me, or is this strictly a social call?"

"I was wondering if you spoke to Flint," he admitted. "I've yet to speak to Samuels, though I hardly think he'll be difficult to convince."

"I've spoken to him, though you and your team didn't make my job any easier," she added blandly. He could only shrug.

"In our defence, Malfoy had it coming."

"I don't doubt that," she said with a wry smile. "It still made convincing Flint a massive pain in the arse."

She shook her head and pulled two stacks of parchment out of her bag. "Good thing Flint is just as fanatical as you are. I had to promise that your players wouldn't try anything on the pitch unless provoked and that you two wouldn't play each other till after the first match-"

"Which was the plan anyway," he cottoned on quickly.

"Which was the plan anyway," she nodded with a grin.

"You're brilliant," he said sincerely.

"I know, right?"

"Okay, don't get too bigheaded now."

She flipped him off.

"My apologies," he said, and she looked satisfied. He pulled the stacks to him.

She tapped the left pile. "This is every Slytherin player's schedule, along with their pre-existing practice times," she pointed to the other pile. "This is the same for my 'Puffs."

"Morgana, this is a lot," Oliver sifted through the stack. "Scheduling is going to be hell, isn't it?"

Hartley nodded. "I would offer to help, but I'm already swamped with NEWTs, and we're not even a whole two months in. Besides, it's your idea anyway, Captain Wood."

"Well, Captain Summers, I appreciate your generosity," Oliver snipped as he tucked the schedules into his pack. "Mind if I get some work done with you? Or do you prefer the solitude?"

"As long as you don't mind me occasionally chattering your ear off," she shrugged. "I don't see why not."

"That won't be a problem, methinks," Oliver grinned, pulling out a charms essay.

While Oliver and Hartley chatted away, quills in hand more as an excuse than anything, Harry Potter knocked on Professor Flitwick's door. He shoved his nerves deep into the crevices of his mind. At the professor's beckon, he slipped into the classroom.

"Mister Potter, come in," Flitwick said, tucking a quill in a sheaf of parchment before setting it aside.

"Hello, Professor," Harry said hesitantly.

Flitwick nodded kindly. "I trust you had a fine summer at the Weasley residence?"

"It was brilliant, professor," Harry gushed. "They have a huge field that Ron, the twins, and I played Quidditch on. Though the twins insisted on using the Weasley brooms, so I haven't used my Nimbus since school let out…"

Harry coughed loudly. "But yes, my summer was good. How about you, sir?"

"Mine was splendid, Mister Potter," Flitwick's eyes glittered with mirth. "Shall we get started?

At Harry's excited nod, the diminutive professor flicked his wand, and the desks and chairs were whisked away to the sides, stacked neatly against the walls. Harry watched the chairs form intricate patterns in the air and didn't notice Flitwick's hex until it hit him.

He jumped, feeling a sharp sting in his elbow.

"The first and most important rule of learning to fight is to always be prepared," Flitwick said not unkindly, his wand still held in front of him lazily. Harry scrambled to fish his wand out of his robes. "If you remember my duel with Quirrell, he tried to surprise me when he realised I had caught him. If I had let my guard down, I might have lost that duel before it even began. An old friend of mine from the war espoused 'constant vigilance. ' Take that as your first lesson of the day."

Harry nodded eagerly. In his brain, constant vigilance meant Sensomagy. The colours in the classroom sharpened and changed where there was magic to be found.

"Good start, Harry," Flitwick smiled sharply before snapping off two spells. "Shall we test those Quidditch reflexes of yours?"

One spell blitzed toward Harry, and he dove to the side, only to feel a sharp sting when the second connected with his shoulder.

"Good reflexes, but keep an eye on your surroundings," Flitwick instructed. The professor's voice was no less pleasant than it was in class, yet as he ducked under another spell, Harry felt more motivated than ever before. "It wouldn't do you good to trip over a chair mid-duel, now would it?"

Harry grunted from his throbbing shoulder as he ducked under another spell, barely weaving out of the way of a stinging hex. Frustration mounted within him as more and more spells connected with his aching body. Flitwick was unrelenting, and Harry wondered whether the professor was waiting for him to yield.

He refused to admit defeat.

Harry dove out of the way of a hex and hit the floor as the now familiar sting hit him right in the gut. He rolled immediately, fuelled only by frustration and adrenalin, and pointed his wand at the professor.

"RICTUSEMPRA!" He bellowed, perhaps unnecessarily. The spell whizzed past Flitwick, who hadn't even bothered to move. Still, that seemed to be what the professor was looking for, as he stopped firing spells. Instead, he plucked a small vial from his desk and handed it to Harry, who gulped it after only a moment's hesitation. He sighed in relief as the persistent aches across his body dulled significantly.

"I was wondering when you would finally fight back," Flitwick waved his wand, and a chair floated over to Harry. He picked himself off the ground and sat gingerly as the professor mimicked him on his own high-backed chair.

"I didn't know if you wanted me to or if you just wanted me to dodge," Harry admitted, and Flitwick smiled wryly.

"In a real fight, if your opponent asked you to not retaliate, would you listen?"

Harry frowned. "No," he acquiesced.

"Then why should that not remain true here?" Flitwick raised an eyebrow. "I believe you asked me to teach you how to fight, am I correct?"

"But I don't know any powerful spells," Harry said self-consciously. "Not like you and Quirrell were using."

"But I'm only using stinging hexes," Flitwick pointed out. "Quirrell and I are wizards much your senior. You cannot compare yourself to us. Instead, use us as a metric to aspire to. Again, if you were in a real fight, would you sit there lamenting your lacklustre spell repertoire, or would you fight with what you have?"

Harry frowned. "I suppose I would have no choice but to use what I know."

Flitwick's face softened.

"I suppose you can consider that your second lesson of the day, Harry," the professor said gently. "One of the most important traits to have is tenacity. You will find yourself against larger, stronger opponents. Still, you must fight all the same. The key is to stay active. Act; don't just react. Always look for the next opening. No matter if you're disarmed or your wand is in ashes on the floor, you stay on your feet and keep moving. The moment you stop moving is the moment you lose."

"Got it," Harry said with conviction, his wand clutched in a vice grip. Flitwick gave him a sharp-toothed smile before, with a snap of his wrist, a bright blue bolt rocketed towards Harry. He rolled off his chair and under the spell, his wand arm extending automatically.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

As he twisted out of the way of the pale blue spell, Harry was certain that Flitwick's proud snarl would be logged into his happiest memories the next time he practised his occlumency.

It was an exhausted Harry who returned to the common room that evening. His unruly hair the colour of charcoal stuck to his face, and he brushed a few stray locks out of his eyes as he stepped through the portrait hole.

His teammates were nowhere to be found, but he found Ron and Neville sitting at a chessboard. He dropped unceremoniously into a free chair near them. He let out a long sigh as his aching muscles relaxed after over an hour of dodging spellfire.

"You look like you just fought a mountain troll," Ron commented, his eyes barely straying from the pieces on the chessboard.

"Been there, done that," Harry said impishly, and Ron snorted. Neville looked at the two of them, bewildered.

"That was real?" the pudgy boy asked incredulously. "Ruddy hell, I thought that was just the rumour mill."

Harry shook his head. "That was how Ron and I became friends with Hermione."

Neville whistled. "Merlin, you three get up to the wildest things."

Harry and Ron shared a knowing smirk. "You don't know the half of it," Harry mumbled while Ron laughed.

"Knight to E-five," the redheaded boy said to Neville, who groaned as his bishop got tossed off the board. Ron turned back to Harry. "Quidditch practice?"

Harry shook his head at the same time as Neville.

"Can't be," said the latter. "I saw Katie Bell in the library with Hermione."

"I was with Professor Flitwick," Harry admitted. He'd been debating what excuse to give his friends about his lessons with the professor. It wasn't until Neville mentioned Katie that he remembered their pact.

No more secrets.

"He's teaching me how to duel."

Ron and Neville started and turned to him, the chess game entirely forgotten.

"Blimey, what do you want to learn that for?" Ron asked, wide-eyed.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under his dormmates' scrutinising gaze. "I asked him last year," he said quietly, and the boys strained to hear him. "After I left the hospital. After Quirrell."

A tense silence settled over the trio. Ron swallowed thickly. He and Hermione were the only people, other than Alicia, that he'd told about what was on the back of Quirrell's head. Neville didn't know about Voldemort's involvement, but the story that the Hogwarts rumour mill had settled on was close enough that the whole school knew of his kidnapping.

Neville cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, did Flitwick teach you any cool spells?"

"Not yet," Harry shrugged. "He's had me running around dodging mostly."

Harry leaned forward slightly and spoke in a hushed tone. "I'd appreciate it if you lot didn't go around bandying this information about. I'll tell Hermione, Alicia, and Katie eventually, but I'd rather not the whole school know. Not after last year."

Neville and Ron nodded, and Harry smiled with gratitude. After he was released from the Hospital Wing last year, Harry had been so caught up in the revelry of winning the Quidditch cup that he'd missed the pitying looks for the first week or so. But by the end-of-year feast, he was fully aware of how everyone looked as if he would start sobbing from a light breeze. This year, thankfully, the students seemed to have forgotten everything that had happened.

This was one of those times that Harry was grateful for Hogwarts' goldfish memory.

With some luck on his side, he hoped to have a somewhat normal year at Hogwarts. He leaned towards Neville. "Move your queen down that way," he muttered. "Ron's trying to take the centre."

"Oi, that's cheating!" Ron whined. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Mate, even outnumbered, you still have the upper hand over the two of us," Neville grumbled. Ron looked rather pleased with himself. Harry grinned and continued helping Neville play Ron.

Somehow, the redhead still won.

Ron Weasley watched Harry laugh as he beat Katie at exploding snap for the umpteenth time. She flipped him off, and he suppressed a snicker at Hermione's scandalised expression.

He watched Harry's mannerisms curiously. Having been friends with him for a year, Ron no longer wore boy-who-lived colored lenses when looking at Harry. How could anyone confuse him with such a mythological character? Harry, who always sat curled up, making himself as small as possible. Harry, who avoided confrontation with his friends to an extreme. Harry, who expected Ron and Hermione to abandon him at just the memory of Voldemort.

Harry Potter was unlike anything Ron had expected, and it concerned him.

He didn't fully understand what Fred and George had been whispering to each other on the car ride back from Harry's relatives' place. Harry had been too distracted by his newfound freedom, but Ron had noticed. But from their rare, grim expressions and the bloody bars that were on Harry's window, he could extrapolate that it had something to do with Harry's living conditions.

What had the twins seen when they went downstairs?

What was the secret that they seemed to share with Alicia Spinnet and Oliver Wood?

He saw how they looked at Harry, like some kind of wounded animal. He also saw how much Harry hated the pity.

Now, if there was something Ron could understand, it was pity.

Ron was incredibly proud to be a Weasley. In his heart of hearts, he knew his father worked incredibly hard and was an incredible role model for his kids, and his mother was the best he could've asked for. His brothers, while prats, pranksters, and quite pretentious at times, he wouldn't trade for the world. And Ginny was Ginny.

But the one thing he hated about being a Weasley were the connotations.

"Oh, the Weasleys. Great people, rather poor though."

It was a sentiment that was rarely spoken with malice. After all, Arthur Weasley was well respected within their community. But it still stung Ron to hear the pity in the voices of his father's contemporaries. It filled him with such anger when he watched his father's coworkers talk down to the best person that he knew.

Sometimes, Ron felt he'd prefer Malfoy's acerbic jibes to the ultimately harmless platitudes. At least Ron wouldn't feel guilty about his urge to curse the former.

So, Ron thought he had a good idea of how Harry might feel about Alicia, Oliver, the twins, and Hermione's behaviour. He promised himself he wouldn't treat Harry any differently. Whatever Harry was going through, Ron would help if asked. Otherwise, he would continue just being Harry's incredibly funny and handsome best mate.

Every hero needed a sidekick, right? Perhaps Harry could be his.

Ron was snapped out of his reverie when the teetering tower of cards exploded in front of him. What surprised him was that the soot was on Harry's face instead of Katie's.

"HA!" Katie pointed at Harry, triumph etched on her face as clear as day. "I finally got you!"

"You distracted me, that's unfair!" Harry complained.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"All right, let me show you little peasants a real master at work," Ron grinned at them. "Deal me in, Harry?"

"Close your eyes, Potter," Nicholas Flamel instructed, his weathered face drawn taut. "Close your eyes and extend your senses. Feel the magic around you."

Harry obliged from the floor, where he was sat cross-legged. He closed his eyes and reached out. For a moment or two, there was nothing, and he focused on his breathing like Flitwick had taught him.

He stopped himself from entering the Nothing, forcing the thought of his task to anchor him to consciousness. With each exhale, he tried to push – something – outwards. He resisted the urge to blow air out his mouth – to extend anything, even if it was only his exhale.

He tried to reach out with his hands while keeping them trapped in place. One breath felt different somehow. He blew it out, slowly.

Then he felt that internal switch flip as mage sight took over. But his mage sight only worked as a facet of his senses – only an extension of them. This was something different. This wasn't just regular Sensomagy.

His hands rested on his knees, but he felt. He felt something nipping at his fingers but resisted the urge to open his eyes.

The feeling expanded. He felt the nipping sensation extend from his fingertips to the palms of his hands, then to his exposed arms and neck. The sensation peppered his cheeks, prickling not unpleasantly. It felt especially intense on his forehead, around his scar.

Harry wondered whether he was sitting on an anthill or something. He suppressed a shudder at the thought but cast it aside. Whatever he was feeling, it wasn't physical. The sensation was getting more and more intense, but Harry pushed forward anyway. He reached out further, extending his magical senses.

Then it clicked.

Despite his closed eyes, Harry saw.

Particles shimmered in the air like sunlight breaking through floating dust. The suspended wisps sputtered out and multiplied before his – not his eyes, for they were still closed, but as he watched. They were the purest white, with the palest blue sparks and tendrils shooting out at seemingly random intervals.

The particles ricocheted off each other and the empty spaces where he knew an old desk and an array of chairs laid unused. He reached out a hand and watched them turn red and green with white centres as his fingers made contact.

"What – what is this?" Harry opened his eyes, and thankfully, the particles remained. He looked down at his palms to see the glowing white symbols. He knew his eyes were glowing, as they always did when he used Sensomagy.

Nicholas shifted, and Harry noticed the man's arms missing the glowing symbols, though his eyes still beamed like grey headlamps. It was an intimidating sight, and Harry wondered if he, too, looked that cool.

"That, Potter, is magic," Nicholas smiled at Harry's awed expression. "Magic in its purest, untampered form. That is the primeval power that we as magicals call upon to cast our spells."

"So, magic doesn't come from within?" Harry asked, reevaluating the assumptions he'd made. "We're calling upon a force of nature?"

"Magic comes from within, yes, yet it is also a force of nature," Flamel said. Smirking at Harry's confused expression, he continued. "Air, and thereby oxygen, is a force of nature. Yet, when the body respires, does the energy produced not come from within? Similarly, magic is a part of nature, but as magicals, we consume it just as we breathe. It is constant and automatic but just as vital. The mage sight you have thus far trained will only show you the magic harnessed by the magical. My teachings will show you how to harness that raw magic without diluting it as most of our kind are wont to do."

Flamel waved his hand, turning the surrounding particles dark bronze with a centre of molten gold. The particles gathered in his hand, swirling around his open palm like a twisting snake.

"Release your mage sight," Flamel instructed. Harry complied and gasped when he saw the blue-white wisps still coiling around Flamel's fingers. The wisps sparked before combusting into a ball of flame. The fire sputtered out after a moment, and Flamel's hand was unscathed underneath. The ancient wizard smiled at Harry's wide eyes.

"This is what you will be learning from me," Flamel said. "There are no spells. No incantations. Just raw willpower and attunement that will allow you to harness the most fundamental force of nature."

Harry looked down at his hands. The particles – wisps of pure magic – were gone. But now that he knew, he could still feel them prickling at his fingertips.

"So where do we start?" Harry asked eagerly. Flamel smiled, his thin, greying skin stretching grotesquely.

"We will begin by calling to the magic," Flamel instructed smoothly. "Reach out to it."

Harry stretched his fingers, clutching at the particles in the air. Nothing happened, and Flamel laughed a rough, grating bark.

"Not literally, boy," he said with amusement, and Harry bit his tongue to suppress the flinch that came at the address. "Reach out with your magic. Let yours intermingle with that within the air. Let it come to you, and when it does, seize it."

Harry closed his eyes and felt for the magic. His senses found no purchase. He tried to recall the prickling sensation and the microscopic tremors he'd felt from the particles. Still nothing. He flew through his memories, searching through each one labelled magic or Sensomagy.

His first experience with mage sight played in his mind's eye. He latched onto the memory of that first sensation in Flitwick's office – the foreign, repulsive feel of his broom imprinted in his mind. He recalled the last time he communed with his broom. He let the feeling of the undulating energy course through his body. The prickling sensation returned, and Harry could see again.

He channelled the memory of the surging energy from the broom. He turned that feeling inside out, imagining the lightning storm was coming not from his Nimbus, but from the very air itself.

The image of Flamel with a ball of flame coiled around his fingers flashed through Harry's mind. He watched with fascination as the wisps of magic surrounding his outstretched hand vibrated and sparked. They seemed to be fighting their very nature as they slowly turned red and green with white centres. They convulsed and sputtered before shooting toward his hand. They coalesced around his spread fingers, sparking and imploding into tiny supernovas.

Then, Harry felt a sharp, intense pain comparable to walking into a wall of flame as he had when facing off against Quirrell. An agonised scream left his lips as his free hand came to cradle the injured one. Opening his eyes, he found his fingers were charred. Blisters covered his digits, and the remaining skin was the mottled pink of well-done steak.

He bit down the cry of horror as he watched the tendrils of smoke curl up from his fingers. Quirrell's scream of agony echoed in his mind, each blister on Harry's fingers reflecting the handprint-shaped scars on the evil professor's face.

Harry shut his eyes and balled his free hand into a fist. The irrational fear of his own hands that Alicia had quashed in the hospital wing returned with a vengeance. His injured hand shook as he struggled to breathe.

Flamel grabbed Harry roughly by the scruff of his neck and tipped his head back. He felt a silky liquid that tasted vaguely of raw egg slide down his throat. Then his mind cleared, his breathing settled, and his hand stopped shaking.

The ancient sorcerer waved his wand over Harry's hand. He felt as if it had been plunged into ice water as the fissures and damage on his skin knitted back together. There was no trace of the burn except that his fingers were a bit pink and tender.

"I believe that is enough for tonight," Flamel said sharply. "Well done. This is more progress than I expected. I should not need to tell you not to practice this on your lonesome."

Harry nodded, still feeling the dissociative serenity of the calming draught. Flamel dismissed him with a curt nod.

He returned to his dorm utterly exhausted. Despite being mostly stationary, the lesson had his body aching from how tense he'd been when he called to the raw magic. The calming draught had worn off on the way back to Gryffindor Tower, so he made a beeline for his bed despite seeing Ron and Hermione wave to him in the common room.

When he was behind the safety of the drawn curtains of his four-poster bed, Harry let out a choked sob that he'd been holding back since the potion wore off.

He held his hands in front of him. They looked identical, even if his right was a little on the tender side. But the way his hand had combusted…

He shivered as the memory of his palms pressed flat against Quirrell's face prickled at the edge of his thoughts.

Freak.

Harry closed his eyes and willed the thoughts away. He ran through his occlumency exercises, choosing to focus on the soft, patterned noise of his breathing instead of the residual guilt and self-loathing that had been beaten into him since childhood.

On the other side of the curtains, Ron Weasley listened to his best mate's shuddering breaths with dawning horror. He reached out a hand to see what the hell was going on but refrained. He didn't know how to deal with these things. What was he even supposed to do if Harry was in there crying? What was he even crying about?

Lost in his thoughts, he noticed that the sobs had turned to rhythmic breathing. Harry was asleep. Ron sighed in relief and went back downstairs. Surely Hermione would know what to do.

Chapter Text

Angelina caught the sunlight as she twisted on her broom, catching a forward pass from Alicia. She swerved to avoid Harry, their makeshift defender, before leaning to the side as a bludger from Fred whistled past her shoulder.

She resisted the temptation to speed ahead as Harry lagged behind, letting her teammates catch up. A lobbed pass made its way to Katie as Angelina made a ‘V’ with her fingers, and pointed it forward: the signal for a Hawkshead decoy. The younger chaser took the head of the triangle but passed the quaffle back under the cover of scarlet robes. Angelina caught the ball and tucked it under her left arm before slotting into the gap in Katie’s right flank.

Alicia lagged behind, obscuring Angelina’s possession from Harry.

The seeker had slowed down to dodge the bludger and could only watch as the girls triple-teamed Oliver. Angelina watched the keeper as she crisscrossed with Alicia and flew to the left hoop, the quaffle still obscured by her body. Oliver glanced at Katie, expecting her to have the ball.

Angelina grinned and switched the quaffle into her throwing hand. Oliver’s head snapped to her the second the scarlet ball was in his field of vision. She made the shot, and to his credit, Oliver managed to block it with the tips of his fingers. In his surprise, he overextended, flying farther than he’d intended. From there, it was all too easy for Katie to pass the rebounding quaffle to Alicia, who sent it through the hoop effortlessly.

“That’s a risky play,” Oliver commented as he signalled the team to hit the ground. “Carrying the quaffle in your off-hand that long. One slip-up and it’s the easiest steal the other team will ever get.”

“I suppose we’ll have to try it in a game to know,” Angelina shrugged as she descended with him in tow. “It might be risky, but I don’t think the play is bad…”

“Never said it was,” Oliver smiled as he hit the ground. “Nice ploy, using Katie as a decoy. I noticed most of our midfield fakes end with her getting the final possession. Good to know you’re on top of it.”

Angelina grinned as the wet grass squelched under her feet. “I can’t take full credit. She was the one to notice, actually.”

“Really?” Oliver’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t know she paid attention to our macro strategy like that.”

She snorted. “She doesn’t. She felt bad that she scored most of our points and that Alicia and I didn’t get as much playtime in the goal box.”

He shook his head fondly. “That sounds more like her.”

Angelina nodded airily. She tossed a limp bludger to Oliver, who caught it and strapped it into its box. Harry ran up to them, snitch in hand. He deposited it in the box at Oliver’s feet before running off to join Alicia and Katie by the water jugs.

She didn’t miss the frown that crossed Oliver’s face at Harry’s retreating form. She, too, frowned. Oliver knew what was going on with Harry. Alicia hadn’t even told her yet, but she told him ?

She bristled a little at that. She thought Alicia hadn’t said anything because it was private. But if Oliver knew, why couldn’t she?

What’s next? Fred and George were in on the secret, and she wasn’t?

Oliver and the twins exchanged a grim look.

Oh, these Machiavellian little shits .

Angelina stuffed down the rising frustration and tried her best to sound nonchalant.

“Speaking of trying new things, what happened to the scrimmage business? Did Flint curse you out of the room after Katie socked Malfoy?”

“Nah,” Oliver shook his head. “Hartley got Flint onboard somehow, but she threw the scheduling onto me. I’ve been dying trying to work around all these practices. I thought scheduling a team practice was bad, but scheduling four at once is impossible.”

Angelina winced. “Ouch, good luck. I’d like to get a scrim at least before our first game. Maybe try out the Hawkshead decoy.”

“That’s what you’re calling it?”

“I suppose. You got any better ideas?”

Oliver held up his hands in surrender. “Nope. You made it, you name it.”

She snorted, and the two sped up to catch the rest of their team.

One hot shower and trek to Gryffindor Tower later, Angelina sprawled into one of the plush armchairs with a contented sigh. Her strained, taut muscles relaxed as she sank into the soft, upholstered cushions.

“I’m going to die,” Alicia groaned as she fell into the chair beside Angelina. “Oliver is going to end up killing me one day. Or I’m going to kill him.”

“Today wasn’t that bad,” Angelina argued. Alicia made a rude gesture.

“Of course, you’d think that,” she rolled her eyes. “Your mum probably used a quaffle as a dummy. Bloody fanatic.”

“Merlin, you’re so overdramatic,” Angelina laughed.

“I hate you so much,” Alicia grumbled. Angelina looked over to find the smaller girl sunk so low into the cushions that she was completely hidden from view. “My arm is still sore from that stupid bludger. I’m going to kill George.”

Angelina snorted and looked over at the twins. They were huddled at a side table, not too far from the girls. That itself was not unusual. What was, however, was the second year sitting with them, rapidly chattering away.

Angelina glanced warily at the three before turning to Alicia.

“What are those three up to? Nothing good, surely.”

Alicia rose from her half-lying, half-sitting position just long enough to glance at the conspicuous gathering. She spoke as she fell back into her chair. “Nah. Harry and the twins have been a lot closer since the summer.”

Her answer was short and succinct, but Angelina had the niggling feeling she got when someone made an inside reference that only she didn’t get. She frowned, though Alicia couldn’t see.

“Ladies,” Oliver greeted as he dropped onto the couch opposite them. He raised an eyebrow at Angelina’s perturbed expression. She shook her head, and he nodded imperceptibly. “Good practice, eh?”

“I’ll kill you,” Alicia raised an arm menacingly before dropping it to her side with a pitiful moan. “Later.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Oliver’s lip quirked, and Angelina shook her head exasperatedly.

“What’s that for?” Alicia, having sat up, nodded at the stack of parchment Oliver was carrying.

“These,” he slapped the top of the stack with a grimace. “Are all the timetables of every Quidditch player at Hogwarts, including pre-existing team practice schedules.”

He sifted through the stack before pulling out a handful. “This is us.”

“You have to sort through all of that?” Angelina asked, horror etched on her face.

Oliver nodded solemnly. “Yup. And I’ve got to come up with scrimmage times that somehow work for all these people.”

“Merlin,” Alicia winced. “Good luck.”

Oliver flipped her off.

“Where’s Katie?” Oliver asked, surveying the common room for the third year.

“She went searching for Hermione,” Alicia said. “She said she was going to, and I quote, ‘drag her out of the library, kicking and screaming.’”

Alicia made air quotes, and Oliver’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

“Since when is Katie such good friends with Harry’s little gang?”

Alicia shrugged. “Since the summer, I suppose. She and Hermione ran into each other on a camping trip, and I guess they bonded over worrying about Harry’s mail embargo.”

Angelina snorted. “Granger is best friends with two boys; she was probably desperate for a girl to talk to.”

“True,” Alicia nodded solemnly. “If I were friends with only boys, I think I would go insane.”

“Hey!” Oliver chimed. “We’re not that bad.”

Alicia and Angelina gave him identical unimpressed looks, and he flipped them off with both hands. A gesture they returned with wide grins.

Silence settled over the trio as the older boy returned to his mountain of busy work. Angelina closed her eyes for what felt like a moment that quickly became a shallow slumber.

She woke with a start as a heavy mass was thrown into her lap. She found it to be an unfamiliar rucksack.

“Morgana’s knickers, is the entire library in here?” She hefted the bag and saw a contrite Hermione Granger standing before her, next to a grinning Katie Bell.

“I’m so sorry! Katie took my bag. I hope you weren’t hurt,” Granger rambled, hurriedly pulling the bag from her grasp.

“I’m alright,” Angelina mumbled blearily. “What happened?”

“Well, I found Hermione wasting away in the library,” Katie said, and the second year glared at her.

“I wasn’t wasting away , I was studying!”

“Hermione,” Katie said slowly, her voice dripping with condescension. “There’s no reason for you to be making exam study schedules in October.”

Granger crossed her arms and glared at Katie like a tiger ready to tear apart anything between her and her prey. Angelina made a mental note never to come between the bushy-haired girl and her books. “We have midterms in December.”

“Which is two months away,” Katie deadpanned. “Not to mention – do you even know what’s on the exam?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish. She was saved from responding by Harry choosing that moment to plop into the seat next to Oliver.

“Hermione, it’s a Saturday morning. We did all our homework last night. Just relax for a bit, will you?”

Hermione huffed. “Well, I was bored ,” she whined petulantly.

“And your choice of pastime is studying?” Angelina asked, horrified.

“You were making schedules?” Oliver piped up before a red-faced Hermione spontaneously combusted. She nodded primly. “Are you any good?”

“She made me and Ron study schedules for our exams last year,” Harry added.

“Ron and I,” Hermione and Katie corrected in tandem before grinning at each other. Harry made a face at them.

“There are two of you now?” he groaned. “As I was saying, she even made me another one once I got out of the hospital wing last Spring.”

“Perfect. Do you think you could help me schedule Quidditch practices?”

Hermione blinked. “Pardon?”

“Remember, the four Quidditch captains agreed to practice against each other? You were there when we were talking about it.”

“Wait, really?” Harry exclaimed. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Cause Oliver told everyone on the train,” Alicia interjected. “The train that you weren’t on.”

Harry flushed. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”

“How do you forget about taking a ruddy flying car to school and crashing it into the Whomping Willow?” Angelina asked dryly.

Harry made a rude gesture, which had the older girls snickering. Their laughter only doubled at Hermione’s scandalised look.

“Anyway,” Oliver rolled his eyes. “The teams are holding scrimmages, and it’s come down to me to schedule them. Except I’m rubbish at all this organising business.”

“And you want me to – what – make the schedules for you?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Essentially, yes,” he nodded. “I could talk to McGonagall – get you a fancy title – Hogwarts Quidditch Manager or summat. It’ll look nice on your resume, I’m sure. Plus, it gives you something to do that isn’t studying.”

Hermione worried her lip between her teeth. “Could I have a look?”

Oliver eagerly handed her the Gryffindor schedules.

“Is this your team?” She asked, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline as she sifted through the sheaf of parchment. Oliver nodded, and Harry winced.

“PRACTICE THREE TIMES A WEEK?”

Harry sank back into his chair with a groan.

“Three practices a week is inhumane!” Hermione exclaimed, shaking the parchment aggressively. “That’s three days of the week that you’re completely exhausted, and that’s not even mentioning the next morning. How are your players supposed to be productive in classes? When are they supposed to study?”

She ranted for another minute or so. Angelina promptly tuned her out, though it was amusing to watch Oliver sink lower and lower into his seat as a twelve-year-old girl berated him on how to run his team.

“To be fair,” Harry chimed in, shaking off Hermione’s heated gaze with practised ease. “Oliver’s only holding three practices a week because we have a game coming up. He usually only holds two a week, with only one the month before exams, and cancels them altogether during prep week. We’re not getting worked to death, ‘Mione. All of us are there because we want to be.”

“Speak for yourself, Potter,” Alicia called, wiping imaginary sweat off her brow. “ I’m getting worked to death out here.”

Harry glared at her, and she gave him an impish grin in return.

“Oh,” Hermione said, sounding out of breath. Which made sense, since Angelina was certain the second year hadn’t breathed that whole tirade. “Why didn’t you just say that then?”

Oliver just stared at her, slack-jawed.

“Does that mean you’re in?”

“Get me that title from McGonagall, and we have a deal.”

A beat of silence passed in their little corner of the common room. No one had batted an eye at Hermione’s tirade. They were common enough, and most assumed it was directed at Harry.

Angelina surveyed the room. Oliver looked shell-shocked, and Harry was watching the whole interaction with amusement. Alicia was silently snickering, and Katie stood behind Hermione with wide eyes and puffed cheeks in an abominable cross between pure awe and suppressed hysteria.

She looked so bloody stupid.

Then, her roving gaze met Angelina’s.

The dam broke, and the two girls exploded into raucous laughter. Alicia forwent her silent amusement to match them, and even Hermione quirked a smile.

As the weeks passed, Angelina’s frustration with her friends only mounted. As the end of October drew nearer, her friends only became more and more cryptic. Something told her it was a different secret this time around, partially because Katie and Harry, too, seemed to be in on it, and they seemed more nervous – excited, perhaps, compared to the grim looks the others had shared during the prior weeks.

Angelina hated feeling like an outsider. It reminded her too much of her childhood. Growing up, she had been the girl who would rather play Quidditch than dress up. But the boys monopolised the skies, forcing her to watch more than she ever got to fly. Being out of the loop like this reminded her of the cruel names the children of Godric’s Hollow had called her behind her back.

She tried to remind herself that Alicia and her friends weren’t cruel like that. “I’m sure they have good reasons,” was a mantra that she found herself repeating often.

Still, insecurity was wearing away at that faith.

She was in the library with Alicia, who, for some reason, had insisted on finishing up their Charms essay that was due next week. Why she had picked that day of all days, Angelina didn’t know.

Because that day in particular was Angelina’s birthday.

The day had started out rather hectic. Alicia had woken her up with a pillow aimed to the head. Her excited yells quickly turned to shrieks as Angelina woke up enough to tackle her to the ground, wrest the pillow from her grasp, and give her a taste of her own medicine.

Their dorm mate, Patricia Stimpson, watched them with amusement. “Happy Birthday,” she grinned as she walked out the door. “You might want to get a move on; I doubt Snape will care that it’s your birthday.”

“What time is it?” Alicia called from the floor.

“Three-quarters to eight,” Patricia called from the stairs.

Angelina swore loudly. The two girls scrambled to get ready for the day. They barely made it to breakfast with time to grab a croissant before dashing to the dungeons. The day had been pure chaos, and Angelina hadn’t had the opportunity to even speak to any of her close friends – the likes of Oliver and Katie. That they hadn’t been at lunch had struck her as odd.

After classes, Alicia insisted on finishing their charms essay that had been assigned that day. Angelina’s protests of “but we only got them today” fell on deaf ears. So, the birthday girl spent most of her special day in the library.

Fun.

Around three hours before curfew, Alicia peeked at her watch before standing up abruptly. “I’ve got to use the loo; be right back,” she rambled before darting out of the library. Angelina raised an eyebrow, trying to shake the feeling that she’d just been ditched.

She sighed and returned to her work, though her thoughts were more focused on her friends' peculiar behaviour than on the intricacies of the summoning charm.

“Hey, Johnson.”

Angelina looked up to see Summers, the Hufflepuff captain, standing before her.

“Summers, right? What can I do for you?”

“Uh – Oliver asked me to tell you to come down to pitch. Apparently, he has an idea for a defensive formation that simply cannot wait. I don’t know the specifics, though, for obvious reasons.” Summers grinned, and Angelina snorted.

“I imagine that would defeat the entire purpose, yes,” she said as she shoved her things into her bag. She then noticed that Alicia had taken her pack with her – so much for a bathroom break. She hid her frown behind her long, black braids.

“I’ll admit,” Summers said as she handed Angelina a quill off the floor. She muttered a thanks as the older girl watched her pack. “I am a little curious about the things Oliver cooks up. He’s certainly the most Quidditch-crazed person I know.”

Angelina nodded. “He’s a little fanatical, even for me, and I eat, sleep, and breathe Quidditch. Some of his ideas are just insane.”

“Like getting a second year to schedule practices for the entire school league?” Summers said with a sly smile. Angelina laughed.

“Exactly like that, but somehow, his ideas tend to work out,” she shrugged. “He’s insane, but there’s a little bit of genius in there, too. It’s definitely easier being vocal when I know my wildest ideas will appear tame in comparison to some of his schemes. I think that’s why we make a good team. I temper the insanity just enough to make things realistic, and he helps me be bolder with my ideas.”

Summers hummed. “And would you say that you two are close?”

Angelina shrugged. "I suppose. We’re teammates and friends. Not nearly as close as I am with Alicia, but I’d say we trust each other.”

Bitterness had crept into her voice without her bidding. She shook her head surreptitiously and put on a sharp smile. “Why? Staking out the competition?”

Summers coughed loudly. “What?”

“Nothing,” Angelina grinned impishly. “Just for your information, Oliver is the team’s big brother. That’s how I see him, and that’s how Alicia sees him. Just for your information, of course.”

Summers nodded jerkily, and Angelina threw her rucksack over her shoulder before heading for the exit. “Good talk. See you around, Summers.”

The older girl could only wave as she walked past. Angelina snickered all the way to the Entrance Hall.

She pushed open the great doors to the grounds and shuddered as her day robes were battered against the rolling Scottish winds. She rubbed her arms as she half-jogged to the Quidditch pitch, cursing Oliver out the entire way.

Angelina ran to the changing rooms. She closed the door, wringing her hands to shoo the cold away. She blew warm air into her palms as she turned around, before gasping and nearly falling over in surprise.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team was crowded in the middle of their locker room, decorated with golden streamers and red balloons. A scarlet banner with ‘Happy Birthday Angelina!’ emblazoned in shimmering yellow hung over the door to the captain’s office.

Angelina just stared as her brain caught up to the scene before her.

“Merlin’s shiny bald spot, what the hell is this?” she guffawed as Katie, wearing a silly, conical hat painted red with gold stripes, forced an identical hat on her head. She reflexively adjusted the elastic string that secured it so it wouldn’t press against her neck.

“We’re trying to figure that out ourselves,” George said mournfully, pulling grumpily at his hat. “George and I were abducted against our wills.”

At the same time, Fred cried. “Save us, Angelina, we’re being held hostage!”

Alicia reached out and whacked them both over the back of the head. The twins let out a dramatic yelp that had Angelina rolling her eyes.

“Sorry for running out on you,” Alicia said sheepishly. “I was in charge of getting the cake from the kitchen, and I kind of forgot. I told them I was the worst person for distraction duty, but they wouldn’t listen.”

Angelina shook her head in disbelief. She stepped deeper into the room, drinking in her surroundings. She revelled in the warmth that filled her chest, which was entirely unrelated to the magical heating that kept out the autumn chill.

“So, this is why you lot have been acting shifty all week?” She looked at the spindly table in the middle of the room. Upon it was a German chocolate cake with swirly red frosting. In the centre, written with strawberry jam, were the words “Don’t bother making a wish, nothing gets better than your best friend.”

Alicia caught her looking. “That was my idea,” she grinned.

“I assumed as much,” Angelina said drolly. “Katie wouldn’t be so bigheaded.”

“She does have a tiny head,” Alicia said sagely.

“My head is perfectly normal-sized, thank you very much,” Katie said sternly, though her mouth was set in a wide grin.

Angelina made a show of splaying her fingers before grabbing Katie’s head. The younger girl squealed, batting her away as her hair was mussed up.

“I spent a whole five minutes doing my hair for you, and this is how you repay me?” Katie pouted.

“Wow, you must’ve put a lot of planning into this party if you want so far as to run a comb through that rat’s nest of yours,” Angelina snarked.

“Hey! My hair’s not that bad. At least not as bad as Harry’s.”

The raven-haired boy snacked on a pumpkin pasty as he watched the exchange with amusement. He started at the mention of his name. “Leave me out of this,” Harry said dryly. “Uncle Vernon always said never to comment on a woman’s appearance.”

Angelina caught a shadow as it momentarily flickered over Alicia’s countenance. She swallowed the knot that formed in her throat.

I’m sure they have a good reason .

She grinned wide. “Well, did he also have a thing for leaving perfectly good cake uneaten?”

Harry shook his head with a small grin. “No, the cake wouldn’t have lasted this long if he were here.”

“In that case,” Angelina rubbed her hands together. “Let’s make like your Uncle Vernon and demolish this cake, shall we?”

Katie watched as the small party devolved into chaos. The twins had got the elves to make a second, decoy cake that they’d rigged with a tiny explosive that covered Angelina from head to toe in shredded coconut and buttercream frosting. After chasing the twins around for good measure, Angelina had dipped into the showers to get cleaned up while Oliver cast scourgify on her robes.

Katie sat on her usual bench, going to town on a large slice of rich chocolate cake. A piece of coconut lodged itself in her teeth, and she picked at it with her fork.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Angelina asked, a smile dancing on her lips as she sat down next to her. The older girl’s hair was still damp, and she was dressed in her Quidditch jersey.

“Coconut. Got stuck,” Katie managed with a fork in her mouth. “Got it!”

“Nice,” Angelina said, leaning back against the wall. She and Katie watched the twins goad Oliver into doing a somersault. “Thanks for all this, by the way. Alicia told me it was your idea.”

Katie gave Angelina a wide grin and poked at her birthday hat. Angelina yelped.

“You’re welcome,” Katie chirped. “You seemed a little down lately; I thought you could use some cheering up. Plus, birthdays don’t exactly happen often, do they?”

“No, they don’t,” Angelina agreed. The older girl hummed to herself as she tore into a slice of her birthday cake.

Katie watched the rest of the party in silence. Harry was huddled in a corner with the twins, who seemed to be goading him into something. Near the captain’s office, Alicia and Oliver had their heads together in tense conversation.

“Do you get the feeling there’s something the rest of the team is keeping from us?” Angelina asked coolly, and Katie looked at her critically.

“You’ve noticed it too?” She confirmed, and Angelina’s forehead creased slightly. Katie sighed. “I didn’t want to say anything – none of my business, you know?”

Angelina hummed noncommittally.

“Maybe it’s got something to do with someone we don’t know,” Katie suggested feebly. “Maybe it’s about some stranger, so we weren’t told.”

“Someone that Oliver, Alicia, and the twins know, that we don’t,” Angelina said nonplussed. “That’s an empty list, right there.”

Katie shrugged helplessly with a wry grin. Angelina shook her head with a matching smile.

“Besides, I’m certain whatever they’re whispering about has to do with Harry.”

Katie cocked her head to the side, a thoughtful expression across her features. “What makes you say that?”

Angelina jerked her chin towards Oliver and Alicia. The third chaser was speaking heatedly to her captain. They kept glancing at Harry’s turned back. Katie’s lip curled downward.

“What’s he up to now?” Katie said, feeling more confused than angry. She’d learned her lesson last year and was making a conscious effort to refrain from jumping to conclusions.

“No idea, but he doesn’t seem to be in on their conversations,” Angelina said, her eyes calculating as she gazed upon her best friend, captain, and youngest teammate. “Rather, he’s the subject.”

Katie’s frown grew steeper. “If something was wrong with Harry, they’d tell us, right? If he needed help?”

Angelina nodded. “They know that if there was anything we could do to help, we would do it. I’m sure they’d tell us.”

She didn’t know who she was convincing, Katie or herself. Either way, it wasn’t particularly effective.

The two girls sat in silence, each lost in thought. Katie wanted to just go up to Harry and ask him what the hell was going on. But she held back because she didn’t want a repeat of last year. She would let Harry come and tell her when he was ready.

If there was something she could do to help, she would trust him to ask.

That's what friends do, right? Trust each other?

While her mind wandered, she watched absently as Harry approached Alicia and Oliver’s sombre discussion, which ceased abruptly at his approach. In the back of her mind, Katie filed that away as confirmation that Harry wasn’t privy to whatever secret they were discussing. That only made her more curious.

What kind of secret did they have that Harry was involved with, but not a keeper of?

He carried two heaping plates of chocolate cake that he handed to Oliver and Alicia. They thanked him before picking up their forks. Katie knew from Harry’s subtle step backwards that chaos was imminent.

She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent a smile as she watched her teammates sink their forks into their slices, which promptly exploded in their faces with a loud BANG .

Oliver’s short brown hair was flecked with coconut and chocolate frosting, and his face was a mixture of shock and hilarity. Alicia had been covered in frosting and cake in such a way that Katie had a good idea of what the older girl would look like with a lumberjack beard and a unibrow. The fourth year let out a low growl.

“You’re so dead, Potter,” Alicia said quietly, her eyes filled with a dangerous gleam. The second year blanched and broke into a sprint, hiding behind Katie and Angelina, who promptly stood and moved out of the way.

“Traitors,” Harry glared. Katie just smiled sweetly.

He tried to sidestep around them to evade a rapidly approaching Alicia but slipped on some smeared frosting before falling on his arse.

“Got you, you little shit,” Alicia said triumphantly as she caught up to the twelve-year-old.

“Let’s talk about this,” Harry tried, but Alicia gave him a feral grin before snatching Katie’s half-eaten plate from her hands (“Hey!”) and shoving it into Harry’s face.

“I was going to eat that!” Katie whined between her laughter as the dark-haired pre-teen lay spread-eagled on the floor with an overturned plate of chocolate cake covering his face. Alicia rolled her eyes.

“The cake isn’t going anywhere – just go get another slice,” she deadpanned.

“It’s about the principle,” Katie argued.

“I can’t blame you,” Harry’s muffled voice came from the floor, his features still obscured by the dinnerware. “This cake is fantastic”

“House-elves really outdid themselves,” Oliver agreed as he watched Harry with a raised eyebrow. The plate wiggled on Harry’s face as the boy licked it clean. “You getting up anytime soon, Potter?”

“I might have a nap,” Harry replied.

Katie smirked. She turned to Angelina.

“You can’t tell me you’ve had a more eventful birthday at Hogwarts.”

“No,” Angelina shook her head with a broad grin. “This definitely takes the cake.”

The entire team groaned in unison; even Harry’s tinny voice joined them from under the plate.

“You’re horrible, Angelina,” Katie declared with a playful scowl.

The older girl just grinned wider.

The day was Halloween, and Harry was in a foul mood. This would be his first Halloween since he became a Chosen – since he met and lost his mother a second time.

It made the anniversary of his parents' deaths hurt that much more.

He hadn’t wanted to get out of bed that morning, but it had been Ron, of all people, who dragged him out.

“We’ve still got classes, mate,” he said. “If you don’t get up, Hermione will kill you for skipping, then kill me for letting you.”

Such a sound argument had never been made, and Harry grudgingly got dressed and made his way to the Great Hall. He wasn’t feeling particularly social and definitely didn’t want to be treated like glass by his friends, read: Alicia, so he grabbed an apple before slipping out.

The apple remained uneaten, and Harry wandered the halls under his invisibility cloak, which had become a permanent fixture inside his rucksack.

At one point, he came across a fellow wanderer in one Ginny Weasley. Normally, he would’ve said hi to Ron’s little sister, but he wasn’t in a personable mood, and she didn’t seem lost, so he stayed under his cloak.

He wondered what she was doing on the second floor when it was far too early to be out for classes. His curiosity was sated when she turned into a girls’ lavatory.

The wandering came to a stop outside his potions classroom – his first class of the day. The day trudged on, and Harry with it. It was as he, Ron, and Hermione were on the way to the Great Hall for the feast that he remembered his promise to Nearly-Headless Nick.

A short while ago, Filch had caught Harry on the return from Quidditch practice, tracking mud in the halls. Nearly-Headless Nick had staged a distraction that allowed Harry to get away scot-free from what would’ve surely been an exhausting lecture and probably detention. In return, the ghost had requested Harry’s presence at his Death-Day party.

When he told her about it, Hermione was instantly fascinated.

“How do ghosts celebrate? Do they have unique traditions?” She asked expectantly, as if Harry would have the answer. He only shrugged.

Ron’s concerns were more elementary. “D’you think they’ll have snacks?”

“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione huffed. “How would they even eat? They’re ghosts!”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Then why are we even going?”

“Because it would be fascinating to see ghostly traditions,” said Hermione excitedly.

Harry gave her an odd look. “You two don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“And miss out on this opportunity to get a firsthand look at ghostly culture?” Hermione said, aghast. Ron shrugged.

“I have nothing better to do. I guess I’ve got to join you lot.”

Harry grinned. “Thanks.”

He severely regretted accepting Nearly-Headless Nick’s invitation. The party was a total bust.

The second years walked into the abandoned classroom in the dungeons that served as the venue for the Death Day party. Where a birthday party – like the one Harry had helped organise for Angelina only a few weeks prior – was usually filled with bright colours, streamers, cake, and presents, a Death Day party was quite the opposite.

The walls were covered in drab, tattered cloth of darkening shades of grey and black. Instead of Hors d’oeuvres and snacks, the scattered tables were filled with rotting fish and rats and other critters that emitted a stench so foul that Harry felt on the verge of fainting. Worst of all was the company. Ghosts packed the room, passing through each other on a whim. They seemed to forget that not everyone in the room was dead, for they floated through Harry several times, giving the second year that awful sensation of being doused in ice water.

He had been having a particularly rough time, owing to his heightened senses as a result of Theia’s blessing. He could only thank his occlumency-wrought self-control and empty stomach that he didn’t throw up in the middle of the abandoned classroom.

On a whim, he’d slipped his bracelet off his wrist and into his robes. His senses instantly dulled, and while it was disorienting for a moment, it was worth it to avoid the overwhelming stench.

Even with his dulled senses, Harry and the others didn’t last much longer. He wasn’t sure what was more unbearable: the rotting stench or Ron’s constant whinging. Either way, the trio nearly ran out of the dungeons, breathing only when they were an entire storey away.

“Bloody hell, that was horrible,” Ron’s face was screwed up in consternation as he tried desperately to get the smell of decaying seafood out of his lungs.

“I should’ve just let Filch write me up,” Harry agreed. Even Hermione couldn’t feign anything except revulsion.

“Was that fascinating enough for you, ‘Mione?” Ron snickered. The girl glared, if half-heartedly. She didn’t have a retort, and Harry knew that when it came to Hermione Granger, that was about as close to victory as one got.

“Come on,” said Ron. “Let’s go down to the feast. Maybe they haven’t cleared the pudding yet.”

Harry’s stomach rumbled at the thought of edible, living-people food. The trio strolled down the hallway. It was at the lip of the side staircase that Harry heard the voice.

“ … So hungry… for so long…”

Harry froze, his hand on the railing.

“Did you two say anything?” He asked his friends. They looked at him weird.

“No,” Hermione frowned. “Are you alright, Harry?”

But Harry wasn’t listening. Instead of stepping off the landing that would take him to the Great Hall, he continued climbing up another floor, toward the voice. A deep, rumbling hiss rang through the hall that seemed to come out of the very ground itself.

“Harry, what’re you doing?”

“ Shh . Shut up a minute, listen.”

Hermione looked at him worriedly. “Listen to what?”

“Just listen! ” he hissed. Ron and Hermione froze on the landing.

The voice was getting fainter now.

“ … kill … time to kill .”

Harry broke into a sprint. He was only vaguely aware of Ron and Hermione chasing after him. “It’s going to kill someone!”

“Why are we chasing it, then?” Ron asked incredulously, speeding up to catch up to him.

Harry rounded a corner, skidding to a stop and nearly getting bowled over by his panting friends.

“What the hell are you doing, Harry?” Ron demanded, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “What voice – I didn’t hear anything.”

They couldn’t hear the voice? As Harry gripped at the realisation, Hermione gasped. Harry turned around instantly. He realised that the corridor he was in was the same one he’d crossed in the morning. He remembered the bathroom he’d seen Ginny go into.

What he didn’t remember was the message that made his stomach turn. Written in blood were the words, ‘ The Chamber of Secrets has been reopened. Enemies of the Heir, beware .’

Harry’s heart thudded against his ribs when his eyes trailed below the message. Hanging from its tail was a cat. Not just any cat, but possibly the most hated cat in Hogwarts. Mrs. Norris hung suspended from the wall.

“Is she dead?” Hermione asked weakly.

Without thinking, Harry focused. The world lit with colour, and he took a moment to adjust to the overwhelming cacophony of magic. He squinted and found that his mage sight felt duller – weaker. Still, he pushed forward.

He scanned the magical residue on the wall. There was nothing on the blood-writing. That meant that the blood didn’t belong to a magical creature – that ruled out wizards. He breathed an involuntary sigh of relief.

His gaze turned to the cat. There was magic on the cat, so whatever had attacked it was magical. And it was definitely a ‘what’, for the magic lacked the almost sentient quality that denoted the human kind. The static shimmer of the magic meant this was the handiwork of a creature. He reached out a hand to identify the creature.

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice cut through his focus. His vision flickered and returned to the monotony of the regular world. “You were glowing!”

He froze. Ron and Hermione were watching him with shock and awe, as if expecting him to spontaneously combust. He made an astounding impression of a goldfish as he tried to think up a suitable excuse. None came.

He was saved by a sudden swell of noise. Lazy chatter from the belly-full students returning from the Halloween feast filled his ears. The nature of the incriminating scene before him became obvious to Harry, who backpedalled, putting as much space between himself and the cat as possible. He had no interest in repeating the dragon incident from last year.

Still, it was for nought. There was nowhere for Harry and company to hide, for the sound of students came from both ends of the hall. The chatter died the moment they turned the corner.

There was a split second of eerie, heavy silence as the student body swallowed the sight before them. A familiar, nasal voice sliced through the tension.

“Enemies of the heir, beware.” Malfoy’s sharp features were contorted in a cruel grin. “You’ll be next, mudbloods!”

The caretaker, Argus Filch, pushed his way to the front to see what was causing the traffic jam. He hobbled over to the writing on the wall. Harry saw the man’s face drain of colour as he read the words. When his gaze landed on his hanging cat, he made a strangled noise. Despite his intense dislike of the man, Harry felt a rush of pity for Filch. He imagined finding Hedwig in Mrs. Norris’ place and felt a ball of lead form in his stomach. He resolved to go visit his owl at the first opportunity.

“Who did this?” Filch cried, his voice halfway between a sob and a snarl. “Who killed Mrs. Norris?”

He surveilled the students before his gaze landed on Harry and his friends. “You!” He advanced on Harry, who took multiple steps backwards. The caretaker’s splotchy purple face reminded him too much of Uncle Vernon for his liking. “What did you do to her? I’ll see you expelled for this!”

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry pleaded. “She was like this when we got here.”

Filch wasn’t listening. He grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt, who fumbled in his robes for his wand.

“Hey, let him go!” Ron yelled from somewhere behind him.

“Argus!” Dumbledore’s booming voice rang through the crowded hallway like thunder, and the crowd parted as the headmaster, followed by his deputy and the heads of houses, filled the empty circle the students had made. “Release him.”

Filch released Harry reluctantly and turned to Dumbledore with thunderous anger in his gaze.

“The boy killed my cat, headmaster. I want to see punishment!”

“Justice will be done, Argus,” Dumbledore said calmly as he patted the distraught man on the shoulder. “But not here. Let us take this somewhere more private.”

“My office is nearest, Professor,” Lockhart simpered, which clashed horribly with his overly grave look. “Let us take this conversation there.”

“That is most kind of you, Gilderoy,” Dumbledore smiled genially. He turned to the three students. “If you three will come with me so that we may get this sorted.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione made the trek to the common room in silence. Each was lost in their own train of thought. Harry stuck his hands in his robes as he walked and felt cool metal. Out of his robes, he pulled his silver bracelet. He withheld a groan as he thumbed the lily charm. That was why his mage sight felt weaker. He kicked himself as he slid it back onto his wrist.

The bracelet brought his memory back to the wall – specifically, Ron and Hermione catching him using mage sight. The entire trip back, he had tried to think of a plausible excuse but was coming up dry.

The trio slipped into the common room, and Harry found the Quidditch team gathered around the fire. Alicia looked up when the portrait opened and beckoned them over. With a sense of déjà vu, Harry approached the gathered team. It was only when he saw Katie curled up on the corner of the settee, asleep, that he realised it was quite late. It was with a feeling of trepidation that Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down next to the sleeping Katie on the sofa. The shifting cushions roused the third-year girl. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes as she sat back.

“Oh, you’re back,” she said between yawns. “Took your sweet time, didn’t you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Sorry, let me tell Dumbledore to talk faster next time.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that,” Katie grinned. “You should do it to Snape instead. Do it in potions, and I’ll sneak out of class to watch.”

Harry snorted. “I like living, thank you very much.”

Katie snickered before falling silent. The lighthearted atmosphere was replaced by a tense silence. Harry coughed. “So, how was the feast?”

Angelina rolled her eyes. “Merlin, you lot are horrible. Speccy, what the hell was that writing on the wall, and what were you doing there?”

Harry gulped and recounted the story. Making sure to keep his voice low to prevent any eavesdroppers from hearing, he told them about the voices, Dumbledore declaring Mrs. Norris as not dead, just petrified, and the mandrakes that would be ready by the end of the year. By the end of the story, even the twins were forced into silence.

“Hearing voices no one else can isn’t a good thing, Harry,” Ron said gravely. “Even in the wizarding world.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said dryly. “That’s really helpful, mate.”

“Just saying,” Ron shrugged helplessly.

“I can’t lie, this doesn’t look all that good for you, Harry,” Katie admitted, and he rounded on her.

“What?” She raised her hands defensively. “I’m not saying he petrified Filch’s cat. I mean, look at him.” She poked his shoulder. “He couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I resent that,” Harry glared. Katie only grinned wider.

“Anyway, what I meant was,” she pulled on a loose strand of her hair. “Think about it from an outside perspective. Harry wasn’t at meals all today – and from what little I saw of him, he was acting a right git.”

Alicia opened her mouth to say something, but Katie cut her off. “I know, I know. Today’s a tough day for him – I get it. And Harry, you know I’m here for you if you want to talk or something, but people on the outside don’t know that. To them, Halloween is about sweets, spooky things, and celebrating Voldemort’s downfall. Only to Harry and those who care about him is Halloween a sombre day.”

She shook her head and started counting off her fingers. “You’ve been missing all day, a surly prat in classes, skipped the feast, and were caught at the scene of the crime. Can’t you see how people might think you did it?”

“Well, what do I do then?” Harry asked hotly. A feeling enveloped him, quite like being immersed in tar.

“You? Just business as usual,” Katie said coolly. “The rest of us will have to get ready to jinx everyone bad-mouthing you.”

Harry smiled weakly.

Katie frowned a little. “I just wanted you to be ready – I remember how much the dragon business last year hurt you. This time, we’ve got your back, no matter what.”

“ All of us,” she added firmly. Harry smiled a little wider and bumped Katie’s shoulder in return.

“Thanks.”

“Of course,” she said. “What are friends for?”

Harry nodded, and he fiddled with the bracelet around his wrist.

Friends .

“I’ve got something to tell you lot,” Harry said quietly. Alicia raised an eyebrow when she saw him pulling at his bracelet. He met her gaze and nodded slightly. “There’s this secret I’ve been keeping since the beginning of first year.”

He took a deep breath. “I can control ancient magic.”

Chapter Text

Harry dropped to the ground, a bright blue spell sizzling over his head. He rolled as soon as he regained his bearings. A yellow spell clipped his shoulder, staining his robes a matching shade.

He didn’t dwell on the hit. Instead, his wand came up. “Expelliarmus!” The spell went wide, knocking a chair off its perch against the wall.

Harry watched the chair fall with a wince.

Flitwick flicked his wand, and the chair was pushed back into place. In the same movement, the professor fired a pale blue spell at Harry’s left hand, which was propping him up. When he used it to push off the ground, Harry found it was stuck. A red spell followed, hitting Harry square in the chest. His wand escaped his grip and sailed right into Flitwick’s.

“Yield?” the professor asked grimly. Harry nodded, and Flitwick swished his wand, releasing Harry from the sticking charm. Harry flexed his newly unstuck fingers, gratefully accepting his wand from his mentor.

“The disarming charm; that was new,” Flitwick commented as he offered him a glass of water. Harry mumbled a thank you before guzzling the glass greedily and gasping as he accidentally waterboarded himself. “Small sips,” the professor said with a half grin.

Harry coughed the water out of his lungs. “Hermione and I were in the library doing our charms essay. I was done early, so I did some reading on defensive spells. I doubt I could do much damage with a tickling charm.”

“The objective isn’t damage, Harry,” Flitwick reminded gently. “The objective is to escape. The objective is to defend. Still, your point stands, and I cannot pretend as if the teacher in me is not pleased with your curiosity.”

Harry nodded absently.

“I must say that, otherwise, today was not up to your usual standard,” Flitwick said as he sat behind his desk. “This isn’t the first time you’ve knocked over one of my chairs, yet you dwelt on it for far too long. Either you didn’t know what the charm would do or were thinking about something else entirely. And I know you aren’t the type to cast first, ask questions later.”

Harry sighed as he slumped into the chair opposite Flitwick.

“I told my teammates about the mage sight.”

“They didn’t take it well?”

“No, they took it fine, but I only told them about learning from you and my own experimentation.” Harry rubbed his temples. “I just – I can’t decide whether to tell them what happened down there. About – about Voldemort and Theia.”

“And why do you feel you need to tell them right now?”

“Because they’re my friends,” Harry said lamely. Flitwick raised an eyebrow. “Because I made a promise.”

“A promise?”

“No more secrets,” Harry recited. “They deserve to know. They deserve to know everything that happened down there, but at the same time…”

“You’re afraid you’ll scare them off,” Flitwick finished. Harry nodded.

“Have you not told Miss Spinnet everything?”

“Everything except for the Theia stuff, but that’s more because it just never came up,” Harry explained. “I’m more worried about Quirrell. I killed a man, Professor! What if they’re afraid of me? What if they don’t want to be associated with a –” his voice broke. “A murderer.”

“Mr Potter – Harry, you are not a murderer.” Flitwick’s expression was sympathetic as he spoke gently. “You’ve suffered an ordeal that would traumatise those well beyond your years, and you’ve come out better than those older folk would. But you must remember that you were a victim. You did what you had to do to survive. Quirrell was – to call him alive would be an overestimation. I do not believe Quirrell had enough life left in him to kill. You vanquished a monster and showed more mettle and strength of character than most.”

“Harry, you are not a murderer. Rather, you are a survivor. Do well to remember that part, as I’m sure your friends will,” said Flitwick gently, his hand patting Harry’s on the desk. “Have faith in the bonds of friendship that you’ve forged here. Take Miss Spinnet as a measuring stick for the others’ reactions, instead of treating her as the exception.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “Thank you, professor. I just – it’s hard to talk about. I can still feel his skin boiling under my fingers; I still hear his screams in my dreams; sometimes, even when I'm awake. I just – I can’t seem to forget.”

“And your occlumency isn’t helping?”

Harry shook his head. “Sometimes, when it gets too much, I’ll retreat into the Nothing, but it always comes back.”

“Odd, you should have fully organised your mind by now; accessing and hiding memories should be easy for you,” Flitwick commented. “Still, I don’t believe suppressing your memories would help the root of your problem. Only time and contemplation can heal wounds like these. Still, you need not go about it alone. Talk to your friends, Harry; let them make their own decision. I’m sure you will be pleasantly surprised.”

“I will try, sir,” Harry said firmly, trying to inject confidence where he felt only anxiety.

“Splendid. Now tell me, how goes your training with Master Flamel?”

The memory ended, and Harry found himself in the Nothing once more. The ball of light that was the memory turned a warm blue before zooming over to fit in with its brethren. It was assigned to ‘training’, ‘doubt’, ‘Flitwick’, and ‘secrets.’

He watched the subsequent memories absently, sifting through moments of classwork and academia with bored ease.

He hadn’t had the opportunity to properly practice his Occlumency since the beginning of the semester. The backed-up memories were intimidating, to say the least. With a withheld sigh (such an emotion would have promptly evicted him from his mindscape), he beckoned to the next memory.

“There’s this secret I’ve been keeping since first year.” Memory-Harry took a deep breath. “I can control ancient magic.”

“Harry, we can all control magic,” Katie deadpanned, amusement lighting up her face. “That’s why we’re at Hogwarts.”

“Har har har. Laugh it up,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m being serious.”

“All magic is ancient, Harry,” Hermione pointed out.

“Right, but this is different – it’s not something just anyone can learn,” he tried to explain. “You’re either born with it or you’re not.”

“So is regular magic,” Katie said, fully smirking now. Harry glared at her.

“Katie, let him speak.”

“Thanks, Oliver,” Harry said gratefully. Katie made rude gestures at them both, but thankfully remained silent. He cleared his throat. “Er – as I was saying. I can sense magic, even when it isn’t always visible. Who cast a spell, what it does, how long ago it was cast – all those things.”

“And recently I’ve been learning how to cast magic that doesn’t even require spells,” Harry turned his palm over. “I still can’t do it without hurting myself, but I’m learning. This magic – it’s older than spells. Older than wizarding society, even. It’s pure in a way that spells aren’t. I dunno how to explain it; I suppose you have to see it to understand.”

Harry was happy to see a lack of disbelief or distrust in his friends’ expressions. That was because there was not much at all to see. They were just plain confused. He supposed that was better than the disgust and judgment he’d feared.

“Fred, can you cast a charm on this pillow?” Harry tossed over a throw cushion from his seat. “Something physically undetectable.”

Fred took the pillow and turned away from the others, muttering an incantation under his breath. He handed the pillow to Harry, who held it gingerly. He focused on the pillow before him, and colour washed over his gaze.

Harry’s friends gasped as they digested the symbols on his hands and the glow behind his eyes. He swallowed the peculiar concoction of pride and nerves that rose within. He honed in on the pillow. Images flashed past his mind’s eye: a shock of red hair, a mischievous grin, and a vision of the pillow exploding.

“It’s that spell you two use to explode things,” Harry said, looking right at Fred. He felt conscious of his glowing green eyes as the older boy struggled to hold his gaze. He rubbed his wrist, suppressing the urge to hide the glowing symbols on his arms. “The one you used on the cakes at Angelina’s party.”

Fred’s eyebrows raised to his hairline, and he twisted his wand with a muttered incantation. The pillow exploded in Harry’s face.

The others took their turn getting him to detect charms. At one point, Katie just hit him with a stinging hex.

“I thought you’d sense it!” She exclaimed, her tone apologetic but her expression saying otherwise.

“That’s not how that works,” Harry grinned, rubbing his arm. “And we all know you did it on purpose.”

“I have no idea how you came to that conclusion.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he tried in vain to keep up with the numerous, sometimes simultaneous, questions he received from Hermione.

“No, I didn’t learn Sensomagy; I think I was just born with it – my mum had it too, so it might be hereditary. Yes, this is what I’ve been learning from Flitwick. Yes, I can sense magical objects – animals too. I can see people’s magical residue from the spells they cast, but no, I can’t see what colour your magic is. I could see it on your signature, though. That’s how I found out Quirrell tried to knock me off my broom last year.”

The chatter amongst his friends was doused like a candle wick against a mighty tempest.

He refused to meet their gaze. “But yes, that’s the gist of it. It’s called mage sight, but if you were to look in a book-” as he was certain Hermione would. “— then you’ll find it listed as Sensomagy.”

The memory ended and was assigned to ‘relief’, ‘anxiety’, ‘friends’, ‘Quidditch’, and ‘secrets.’

The common room faded into Nothing, and Harry watched the memory join the constellation of its brethren. The next memory floated over, and Harry grasped it. This time, the silent darkness receded into the constant whirring and gaudy, gold-plated whimsy of the headmaster’s office.

Harry watched Flamel’s monologue as he relived their first lesson. He watched as the world around him was illuminated in sparks that sputtered and fizzled out in an endless cycle.

He watched himself reach out and harness the power of sheer magic. The imploding wisps coalesced around his outstretched hand, forming a nearly opaque layer of pulsing arcana.

Then the layer spontaneously combusted, setting his hand aflame. The sight of his charred, blistered appendage triggered a violent reaction in spectator-Harry, despite being unable to feel the pain in a memory. A reaction that sent Harry careening out of the Nothing.

He woke, gasping for breath. He looked down at his shaking palms that were capable of such destruction. The candlelight filtered through a crack in the curtains curtaining his four-poster bed, illuminating his hands in a fiery orange glow. In a moment of disoriented panic, Harry wrung his hands frantically until they were out of the ray’s path. He let out a long-held breath before pulling his curtains all the way shut, blocking out any traces of light.

He pulled his sheets over his head and tried to sleep. Harry had a feeling the next few days would be exhausting, and he would need all the rest he could get. Yet he laid awake till the dull hours of the morning, trying in vain to blink away the orange light that lapped at the edge of his vision. An orange light that he knew had nothing to do with mage sight.

Katie yawned heavily as she tightened the straps on her wrist wrap. “Merlin, why do we always play at the crack of dawn?” she grumbled.

Harry, sitting next to her, gave her an unimpressed glance. “It’s eleven in the morning.”

“On a Saturday! If I had my way, I’d still be asleep,” she argued.

Harry grinned. “If you had your way, you’d sleep through the whole day. Also, can you help me with this strap?”

Katie glared and took his outstretched arm. She pulled on the harness, making sure to pull it a little tighter than strictly necessary. He yelped and glared at her. She smiled sweetly, and he rolled his eyes.

“Come on,” he said, standing. She was quick to follow.

“Last one on the pitch is a rotten egg!” She shoved him lightly and took off running, her laughter trailing behind her. She turned at the door to see Harry half-heartedly jogging up to her.

“You’re no fun,” she pouted. Harry tossed her a broom that she recognised as hers.

“And you forgot your broom,” he said with a smirk. “One of us has to be the responsible one. And we all know it won’t be you.”

“I’m older than you.”

“A lot of good that does us.”

She made a rude gesture. Harry only laughed before walking past her to where the rest of the team was huddled. He joined the twins, and the three boys were quickly engrossed in a shifty conversation that Katie was sure she wanted no part of. Alicia watched the Hufflepuff players while Angelina and Oliver had their heads bent over some scraps of parchment.

“What’re you doing?” Katie asked, approaching the lone girl.

“Waiting, mostly,” Alicia admitted, jerking her head toward the captain and lead chaser. “You know as well as I do never to get in between those two when they’re talking Quidditch.”

Katie smirked. “True. This is weird, isn’t it? We’re on the pitch, we’re going to play the ‘Puffs, but this isn’t a match. There aren’t any stakes, yet I still want to win. Is that not odd to you?”

Alicia shrugged. “Dunno. We’re on the team because we like to win. Why should that competitiveness only extend to real matches?”

Katie hummed her assent. “You’re right. Still, sucks that there aren’t any bragging rights.”

Alicia snorted. “Well, no one’s stopping you. Let’s make sure we win first, yeah?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Katie snapped off a salute before looking in the Hufflepuffs’ direction. Cedric, who was watching her team, smiled and waved when their eyes met. She flushed, barely remembering to wave back before looking pointedly at Alicia. “Notice anything yet?”

“Real smooth,” Alicia grinned, dodging Katie’s elbow. She looked at the Hufflepuff players, though Katie kept her gaze firmly on her friend. “Welch is favouring his right side. Maybe he pulled a muscle or something. If you’re the one marking him – and you probably will be – focus on his left side. Limit his range of motion, and he’ll be easy to block. Also, Diggory was eating a banana with his left hand on the way here – I don’t think he’s left-handed. Let Harry know in case I forget.”

“No need,” Harry chimed in, coming to stand next to them. “I see it. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Katie watched Harry curiously. He was oddly peppy today. He bounced on the balls of his feet, shifting his balance from one foot to the other. She met Alicia’s gaze, and the older girl shrugged. Katie’s eyebrows rose higher up her hairline.

“What’s going on over there?” Harry asked. Katie looked over to see the Hufflepuff captain, Summers, talking animatedly with Oliver, while Angelina watched with amusement from the sidelines.

Alicia whistled. “Looks like the captain’s got an admirer.”

Katie scrunched up her nose. “Ew.”

“Says the girl who’s been making eyes at Diggory for the past fifteen minutes,” Alicia snarked, and Harry looked at her with barely concealed distaste.

“I forgot about that,” his expression mildly nauseated.

“He could fly circles around you,” Katie snipped. Harry’s face scrunched up, but she was saved from his retort by Oliver. The captain called for the team to hit the air, and Katie obliged, swinging her leg over her Cleansweep Seven and kicking off the grass with practised ease.

She joined her fellow chasers on their warm-up lap. The wind battered pleasantly against her skin as she drew lazy ellipses over the grass. She thanked Harry in her head for the weatherproof goggles that removed the small inconvenience of the wind stinging at her eyes.

Angelina and Alicia looked behind them and shared a smirk before rapidly accelerating, leaving her behind. Katie watched in surprise, but before she could chase after them, a yellow-clad flyer neared her flank. She nearly fell off her broom when she recognised the Hufflepuff seeker. She slowed down to let him catch up, desperately attempting to calm her erratic heartbeat.

“Nice goggles!” Cedric shouted over the wind. Katie felt the pink creep up her neck.

“Thanks!” Katie yelled back. “It was a Christmas present!”

“Weather resistant?” He asked, and she nodded. “Didn’t Babbling mention those in Runes yesterday?”

Katie nodded again. “Yes, she mentioned that most water-resistant clothing has Algiz sewn into the collars. Coz, it means defence, right? Paired with the rune for water. Er – I remember it starts with an L…”

“ Laguz , I think,” Cedric supplied. Katie snapped her fingers, steering her broom absently with one hand.

“That’s it!” Katie nodded excitedly. “You stack Laguz on top so Algiz knows what to defend against.”

“Right,” Cedric said. “You’re pretty good at this Runes business, eh?”

Katie turned bright red. “I’m alright.”

“Don’t be modest,” Cedric smiled good-naturedly. “I know you’re breezing through the coursework. I was in Divination last year, but I didn’t like it all that much, so I switched to Runes. They put me in the third-year class with you lot, but I’m still a little behind. But even I can tell you’re quite good at this.”

Katie shrugged in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. “You just have to memorise the runes and their properties. It’s a little like Potions in that regard.”

Cedric made an impressed noise. “That’s not a comparison I’ve ever heard before. I suppose you’ve got a point. Taking the individual runes and combining them to create an enchantment is a little like combining ingredients into a potion.”

Katie hummed her assent, keeping her eyes on the nose of her broom to hide the pleased expression on her face. “Though I will say that Babbling is much nicer than Snape.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cedric’s eyes were crinkled with laughter. “Not that it’s hard to be nicer than Snape, mind.”

Katie grinned back. “Trust me, I’m a Gryffindor. No one knows about Snape’s ‘niceness’ more than I.”

Cedric laughed. “Thanks for your sacrifice. Because of you and your housemates, the rest of us get to live in peace.”

Katie snapped off a salute. “Anytime.”

The Badger and the Lion lapsed into silence, both searching for a way to continue the conversation. They continued their lap past the far hoops, turning back to the centre when they realised their teammates were all done with their warmups.

Katie cleared her throat. “Er – if you wanted, I could help you with Runes sometime. We’ve got the Homework due Wednesday, right?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Cedric said happily. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Katie said as the two approached their teammates. Cedric floated past her to his teammates, where he was instantly pulled into a strategy discussion by Captain Summers.

Katie turned to her friends as her boot-clad feet hit the grass. The twins were trying to headbutt a quaffle back and forth. She didn’t even want to think of the blunt force trauma those two were self-inflicting. Merlin knew they didn’t have the brain cells to spare.

Oliver had his nose in a stack of parchments as he chattered absently to Angelina, who, for her part, wasn’t even pretending to pay attention. No, her fellow chasers were watching her with identical cat-that-caught-the-canary expressions. Harry stood beside them, watching the entire interaction with confused amusement.

He opened his mouth to speak.

“Not a single word ,” Katie said darkly, and his jaw clamped shut.

“You and Diggory took your sweet time on that last lap,” Alicia said cheerily, entirely unfazed by the younger girl’s glare.

“They grow up so fast,” Angelina said mournfully, wiping a faux tear. “I’ve never seen our dear Katie-Kat blush so hard.”

“I’m going to kill all three of you,” Katie growled.

“What did I do?” Harry asked indignantly.

Oliver saved him from her retort when he herded the Gryffindors into a huddle. If Fred and George were surprised to see her standing between them instead of with Harry and the girls, they didn’t say anything. For their parts, Alicia and Angelina only seemed to find more amusement in her annoyance.

“What are you lot up to?” Oliver asked inquisitively, eyeing the guilty grins on Angelina and Alicia’s faces as Katie bored holes into the sides of their heads.

“Funny you ask, Oliver,” Angelina began, just to be cut off.

“So!” Katie interrupted; her eyes attentively fixed on her cousin. “Quidditch! Scrimmage! What are we practising today, Captain?”

Oliver’s lip twitched. “Uh – Mostly just working on what we’ve got so far,” he shrugged, effortlessly switching back into the role of Captain. “I want all of us to pretend this is an actual match. No holding back – no niceties. Any questions? No? Alright, then. Angelina knows what formations and plays we’re going to try, so ladies, I’ll let you figure that out amongst yourselves. Harry, you’re with them, of course. Twins, you’re with me. Let’s move as we talk.”

Katie split off from the twins, begrudgingly joining her best friends as they kicked off lazily toward the centre of the pitch. Harry slowed to a crawl, nearly floating in place as he let her catch up.

“Just making sure,” he yelled over the wind. “You’re not mad at me, right?”

Katie rolled her eyes. “I’m not mad at any of you. I knew you were all prats when I decided to befriend you. I can hardly be surprised, can I?”

“No, I suppose not,” he mused as he flexed his fingers in preparation. “Shall we go win?”

She smirked. “After you.”

The scrimmage started slow. Angelina instructed Katie and Alicia to concede the quaffle. They were to practise defence.

Katie didn’t waste a moment. As soon as the quaffle was tucked under Captain Summers’ arm, Katie flew diagonally under the chaser formation, forcing herself between Summers and her right wing, who happened to be the smallest Hufflepuff chaser.

The Hufflepuff chaser swore and tried to duck away, but Katie let her, before twisting in the air and trailing after her. She positioned herself so that the tails of Summers and her right wing (Number four, she noted) were beneath her.

She was the most petite figure on the pitch, and the wind batted against her form. Her fingers wrapped tighter around the neck of her broom. She heard a whizzing to her right and attempted to duck the bludger. It was then that she realised that her opponents were right underneath her.

Katie braked hard and twisted into a nosedive. The bludger clipped the tail of her broom, and she held on for dear life as she spun, just about wresting control of her broom. She centred the broomstick and took a heaving breath. Further ahead, she watched Alicia and Angelina struggle to break up the offensive formation.

Katie shook off the nausea and pressed flat against her broom. Her fingers slotted into the grooves on the chiselled wood as she gripped tight. She raced for the cluster of red, gold, yellow, and black.

She caught up just in time for another bludger to whistle toward Angelina, who was grappling with Summers.

“Angie! Bludger behind you!” Alicia called. Angelina turned around just in time to duck the bludger. The intended consequence was that Summers dipped away with the quaffle in hand.

Despite her rapid acceleration, Katie could only watch as Summers and Number Four slipped away from the deadlock and double-teamed Oliver.

The quaffle soared through the hoop, and Angelina swore violently.

“Nice try,” Summers said genially as she crossed them. Katie stifled a snort. Angelina looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. If anyone else had said such a thing, Angelina would have retorted to the sarcastic jab. But with the Hufflepuffs, things were different because they tended to genuinely mean it.

Nothing takes the wind out of one’s aggression like the other party being disarmingly nice.

But for Katie, who watched Angelina grapple with the dilemma of whether to say thank you or insult Summers’ mother, the whole situation was comedy gold.

The Gryffindor chasers returned to the centre of the pitch, ready for the next toss of the quaffle.

After the rest of the scrimmage, the Gryffindor team retreated into their changing room. The dull, rust-coloured iridescence of the setting sun washed over the dark wood flooring, slipping through the cracks underneath the door. The rays splintered across the floor, bathing it in the colours of the blood moon. It reminded Harry of the ominous premonition he’d received from the centaurs nearly a year prior.

Mars is bright tonight .

The Gryffindor Quidditch team changed in exhausted silence, save for small, muttered conversations. There was a confused sort of indecision in the air. The Lions weren’t sure whether to boast and compare highlights like after a game, but they weren’t keen to hold their post-practice debriefs either. Oliver, who was still in the shower, would inevitably speak to them later.

“Three hours.” Next to him on their bench, Katie groaned as she peeled the gloves off her hands and examined her calloused fingers. “You couldn’t catch the snitch an hour earlier, Potter?”

“By all means, why don’t you try next time?” Harry said dryly, pulling at his jersey, which stuck to his sweaty skin.

“Maybe I will,” Katie said lightly. “Steal your job while I’m at it.”

Harry snorted and turned to look up at the gas lamp above his head. “I’d trust you only if my job were to stare at the other seeker instead of the snitch. At least then I know you’d be decent against Hufflepuff.”

Katie flushed and turned away from him with crossed arms. Harry grinned at her turned back.

The lamplight flickered as a breeze wafted through the changing rooms, and Harry stared intently into the waning flame. The light sputtered out, before reappearing at full strength as if pulled back to life by an outside force, which, knowing Hogwarts, was very likely.

Oliver and the twins were engrossed in a game of rock-paper-scissors. Oliver was losing handily. Especially since the twins were versing him simultaneously. Alicia and Angelina were back in one of their inane yet intense arguments. Harry reckoned the topic was probably something silly like, “What came first, orange the fruit, or orange the colour?” Katie had grown bored with his company and had joined the girls, fanning the flames of their quarrel.

Harry bit his lip hard, letting the pain draw his focus away from his nerves and into the present. Sharp raps against the door sent the argument and game of rock-paper-scissors into instant hiatus.

Katie went to the door, and Harry stood as she swung it open.

“Hermione? Ron? What are you doing here?” Katie asked, surprised.

“Harry asked us to come here after the game,” Hermione said awkwardly. “He didn’t say what for.”

The team looked at Harry curiously, and he cleared his throat. “I asked them here because I have something I want to tell you.”

“Again?” Katie chirped. “Boy, you have a lot of secrets, don’t you – OW!”

She rubbed the back of her head and glared at Angelina, who raised a prim eyebrow.

“Continue, Harry,” she gestured, and Harry smiled gratefully. The last one to enter the changing rooms, Ron, shut the door behind him. Harry suddenly felt very trapped. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, calling on his occlumency to help him centre himself. He opened his eyes but remained silent, choosing his words carefully.

“Er, I know I haven’t spoken about Quirrell, and I thought I should tell you lot about what happened down there.”

The lamp above Harry sputtered for a moment, shrouding Harry’s vision in a moment of darkness. In the black, Harry imagined horror and revulsion and disgust and fear on his friends’ faces. Harry felt Alicia’s hand squeeze his in an act of reassurance. When did she get there?

The magically powered light sparked back to life, and Harry found the levity and humour had disappeared from his friends’ countenance. Even the twins were unusually sober. Katie no longer had a teasing grin. Instead, her gaze was sharp as she scanned his features. For what, he didn’t know – he hadn’t even begun his story, after all.

“You don’t have to tell us if you’re not ready, Harry,” Alicia said softly, to noises of assent from the room’s other occupants. When his gaze crossed hers, even Katie nodded reassuringly. Their support only strengthened his resolve.

“No, I want to – you all should know,” he said carefully. He told them everything. From finding the magical residue on his broom to identifying it with Quirrell’s signature. He grinned sheepishly while Oliver and Alicia chastised him for keeping the knowledge to himself instead of asking for help, especially when he went to the kitchens with the former the following morning.

“And then I told Flitwick everything, and he went to confront Quirrell,” Harry said, and Alicia breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, at least you made the smart decision there,” she said. He smiled apologetically.

“I realised I forgot to mention an important detail, so I followed him,” he said with a contrite expression. Alicia just facepalmed.

“What important detail did you forget to tell Flitwick?” Hermione asked. Harry snorted weakly.

“It’s one you already know – remember the forest?”

Hermione gasped and Ron paled. Alicia groaned and put her head in her hands. “Of course, that was the detail you’d forget.”

“What detail?” Angelina asked, her confusion mirrored in the rest of the team. “Mind explaining for us slow folk?”

Harry smiled weakly. He ran his fingers through his messy, rat’s nest of hair. Focusing on pulling the knots loose was far easier than grappling with the potential consequences of his next words.

He made his bed; it was now his time to lie in it.

“After Hermione and I got caught in the Astronomy Tower, we were assigned detention in the Forbidden Forest. Something was killing the unicorns, and we were to find out what.”

“So, some dark creature – because what else would be out there killing unicorns – is in the forest, so they send a bunch of firsties who can barely hold their wands the right way to check it out?”

“Hey! We’re not useless. We knocked out a troll, remember?” Harry groused. He wilted under Alicia’s glare, and Katie snickered.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t be bringing up that event – I’ve seldom seen Alicia as angry and worried as she was that night.”

“Sorry,” he said meekly. Alicia rolled her eyes.

“Don’t apologise, we’re well past that,” she said. “I’m more interested in who had the genius idea to send you lot into the forest.”

“Filch,” Hermione supplied.

“Figures,” Angelina snorted. The twins looked at each other with an expression that Harry had learned to recognise as their ‘Eureka’ faces.

“So, Freddie, if we cause enough chaos,” Fred began.

“Dear old Argie will send us into the forest,” George finished. “How many dungbombs do we have left?”

“Not enough,” said Fred mournfully. “We’ll have to get creative.”

“I doubt they’d let you two buggers in there under any circumstances,” Angelina deadpanned.
“What happened in the forest, Speccy?”

The moment of levity dissipated, and Harry’s uplifted mood with it.

“I found this creature – this monster – that was killing the unicorns. I tried to run away, but it looked at me, and my scar just felt like it was about to tear open again.”

Harry rubbed his forehead absently and saw all his friends’ gazes follow his hand. He withheld the hollow laugh that threatened to leave his lips. No matter who he was with, he could never escape his fame.

“Then Firenze – he’s a centaur – came and saved me. He told me that Unicorn Blood could return someone even from the brink of death, but they would be subject to a cursed life: a half-life.”

Harry shuddered at the thought.

“He asked me if I knew anyone desperate enough to stoop so low. Someone willing to murder a creature that was the very embodiment of innocence. Someone with absolutely nothing to lose, and everything to gain.”

Katie gasped, clearly having made the connection. Harry met her gaze with grim acceptance. It was Angelina who spoke.

“You-Know-Who.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Voldemort.”

A round of shudders rippled through the room, and Harry felt a touch of annoyance. Dumbledore had said that fear of a name only increased the fear of the thing itself. Harry did not fear Voldemort. He hated him. Hated him for ripping his family from him, for hurting so many innocents, for killing his patron’s sacred animal. But he did not fear him. He’d sooner die than stoop that low.

He surveyed the room and frowned at his friends’ pale faces. Ron, Hermione, and Alicia were taking it well (they’d already known, of course), but the others, not so much. Katie was unhealthily pale, eyes wide. Oliver’s face looked to be made of stone, and Angelina’s hands shook with a torrent of unidentified, uncontrolled emotions. The twins’ eyes were devoid of laughter, which was their equivalent of straight shell shock.

“That was him, isn’t it?” Oliver asked quietly. “Quirrell? Was he collecting the blood for Voldemort? Taking the curse for his master? How does Quirrell fit into all this?”

“Something was being hidden in the school that would let Voldemort regain his body. Right now, he’s merely a spectre, a shade of a being. Quirrell was tasked with helping him get the stone.”

At the inquisitive looks from his friends, he clarified, “The Philosopher’s Stone.”

Katie gasped, and Harry looked at her curiously. “You know what that is?”

She grinned sheepishly. “I had something of an alchemy phase back in first year. I mean – Alchemy is just really advanced potions making, and who wouldn’t be interested in infinite wealth and immortality?”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Harry nodded. “Unfortunately, the stone has been destroyed, but I could introduce you to the person who made it.”

“You know Nicholas Flamel?” Katie asked, awe written on her face.

“Uh-huh,” Harry said noncommittally. “Yes, he’s the one teaching me Ancient Magic.”

“I thought Flitwick –” Hermione began.

“Flitwick started teaching me Sensomagy,” Harry interjected. “But he can’t actually use Ancient Magic, so he’s limited in what he can teach, y’know?”

Hermione nodded, and Harry coughed. “Anyway, down in the dungeon, Quirrell was looking for something. He wasn’t having much success when this—this disembodied voice told him that I was the key. He forced me to look into the mirror and asked me what I saw…” Harry trailed off, going completely silent.

Should he tell them about what he saw in the mirror?

Alicia squeezed his hand.

“I saw my parents. Dumbledore later told me that the mirror shows your greatest desire,” he smiled wryly, and heard Katie make an odd choking noise. Hermione’s eyes were filled with tears. “I saw my parents. Aunts, uncles, grandparents, and other relatives I never had the chance to meet — I saw my family.”

His wistful eyes hardened. “Of course, I wasn’t going to tell him that. I told him that I saw myself shaking hands with Dumbledore after winning the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup.”

He grinned at Oliver, who smiled back gently.

“The voice called me out on my lie and forced me to try again. It revealed itself to be Voldemort –” a round of shudders. “Trying to return to life. He was – he was on the back of Quirrell’s head.”

As he neared the part of the story he dreaded most, Harry felt his hands shake of their own accord. His breathing became shallow as he leaned back against the wall. Not a sound came from his friends, and he stared at his hands, afraid of what he would find if he looked up.

“When I looked into the mirror, somehow the stone appeared in my pocket. When I refused to give it to him, he told Quirrell to – to kill me,” Alicia’s hand squeezed his painfully tight, yet he drew more comfort than pain from the gesture. “Quirrell tried to curse me and grabbed me by the throat. I grabbed his face and tried to push him off. Then he started screaming.”

His hands were exhibiting full-blown tremors now, and his vision was a collage of colours that refused to focus. Shakily, he wiped the tears away as he took a ragged breath that sounded more like dragging the serrated edge of a blade against a metal pipe.

“My touch – it burned him. My mum’s sacrifice. It left a mark on me that made it so Voldemort couldn’t touch me. And so Quirrell, possessed by him, couldn’t either.”

“I didn’t know what to do. Then, he pulled out his wand, and I panicked. I ran at him and grabbed him by the arm to take his wand, then he started screaming again.” Harry’s voice gave out, and he swallowed thickly before continuing. “I’d realised I was hurting him, but I couldn’t let him get the stone. So – I grabbed him by the face and held on until… Until he stopped fighting back.”

Harry’s eyes were screwed shut, and he had long since given up the futile endeavour of stemming his tears. They flowed freely down his face as the memory of that night replayed behind his eyelids. The blurry sight of the professor, their intermingled screams of pain, even the acrid smell of rotting, blistering, burning flesh. The only sensory detail from the present was the salty taste of his own tears in his mouth.

He was fully sobbing now. Alicia pulled him into her shoulder and rubbed circles into his back. It was oddly reminiscent of that day in the Hospital Wing when he’d woken.

“That was why you didn’t want us to touch you. That day in the Hospital Wing,” Katie breathed. “You thought you would hurt us like Quirrell.”

Harry nodded into Alicia’s shoulder.

“But you didn’t,” said Alicia, her voice sturdy with resolution. “That’s all that matters. You said it yourself – only people trying to hurt you can be hurt by your mum’s protection. It’s alright, Harry. You’re safe now, and you’re not a danger to us, either.”

“I killed him, Alicia,” Harry choked out. “I’m a murderer.”

He looked up at his friends. His glasses were askew, and his vision was full of tears, so he couldn’t make out more than their silhouettes. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to be friends any more, or if you want me off the team. I get it; I wouldn’t want to be friends with a murderer, either.”

A moment of silence passed that made time feel like tar as the assembled students drank in the weight of Harry’s story. A moment which was broken when Hermione’s bushy-haired silhouette crouched in front of him. “Harry, do you remember the troll?”

Harry nodded.

“Quirrell let that troll in. It nearly killed me. You and Ron saved my life . Who knows how many more people Quirrell would have hurt if you hadn’t stopped him?”

She reached out tentatively and wiped his tears with her sleeve. She seemed heartened when he didn’t flinch away. “I wouldn’t be alive without you. You and Ron are my best friends. Nothing has changed.”

“She’s right, Mate,” Ron said solemnly. It was the most serious Harry had ever heard him. “I’ve overheard Mum and Dad talking about life during the war. It was difficult for people like Hermione: Muggleborns. If you hadn’t stopped him the first time, someone like ‘Mione wouldn’t have been allowed to even learn magic. Now, if you hadn’t done what you did – and You-Know-Who came back – then who knows what would happen to us.”

Ron shivered. “You were just trying to survive. I don’t care what you had to do. You’re still my best mate.” He punched Harry lightly on the shoulder, and Harry cracked a half smile.

“Thanks, Ron, Hermione,” he mumbled. He rubbed his face, wiping the tear tracks as he sniffled.

“I don’t have a moving speech like these two,” said Katie with a watery grin. “But I think I can speak for the team when I say that we’ve still got your back. This doesn’t change anything. As long as you promise to give Malfoy a nice, firm handshake next time you see him.”

Harry snorted. “Alicia said something of a similar effect when I told her.”

“I’m sure she did,” Katie grinned. “That’s the type of terrible joke Alicia would make.”

“Oi!” Alicia piped up. “You made the same joke, you little bugger.”

“Yes, but I’m funny,” Katie said as if speaking to a small child. Alicia made a rude gesture, and Harry couldn’t fight off the laughter that bubbled out of him. The girls grinned at him.

“Harry, d’you want to go for a fly before dinner?” Katie asked, still partially dressed in her flying gear.

“Sure, I could work off some of these nerves.”

“Wicked! Now you can tell me what colour my broom’s magic is,” she said excitedly, running off ahead of him. He rolled his eyes as he stood up to follow. Alicia let go of his hand.

“You’ll be alright?” She asked concernedly. He nodded.

“I think so,” he said. It was the closest he’d ever come to actually believing that.

Oliver clapped him on the shoulder as he stood up, and Angelina shot him an encouraging smile. Harry’s steps felt lighter as he walked to the broom shed.

“Bloody hell…” Fred said dazedly. “You-Know-Who, in the castle for an entire year. He taught us Defence; that’s mad…”

“Forget Defence, Georgie,” said George, his eyes widening with realisation. “We pelted Quirrell with snowballs – in the back of the head; right in You-Know-Who’s face!”

Fred gawked in silence before he began cackling. “How many people can say they’ve pranked a Dark Lord?”

George wore an equally large grin, “Not many, brother of mine, not many.”

Chapter Text

Harry stretched uncomfortably. He had been sitting on the floor for nearly two hours now, and he was beginning to lose feeling in his bum. He’d long since lost contact with his legs and dreaded the moment he would stand up. Simultaneously, he desperately wanted to stand or go for a walk—anything except another moment spent on the floor of this abandoned classroom.

“Boy, are you listening to me?” Asked Nicholas Flamel. His rough voice and harsh tone set Harry on edge.

“Uh, yes, sir,” he said quickly. The ancient wizard raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Indeed? Then what were we speaking of?”

“Er… I believe you were explaining the importance of belief in using ancient magic.” Harry tried. Judging by Flamel’s cool expression, his fib had been unsuccessful.

“A commendable assumption, yet an incorrect one. It is not belief that we were discussing, but conviction,” Flamel droned. His clipped tone, combined with his rusty vocal cords, made for an imposing sound. “Boy, I have been tasked with your education, but that does not mean I will tolerate your idling.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry hung his head. “It’s just – the floor is very uncomfortable. I think my feet have fallen asleep.”

Flamel’s lips pursed, disappearing into his greying, wrinkled skin. “Tell me, Chosen, do you know why so many cultures and religions practise meditation on the ground? Do you know why we hold these lessons in the dungeons, at the lowest point of the castle?”

Harry shook his head sheepishly.

“You know that magic surrounds us, yes?” Flamel queried, and Harry nodded. “It is in the air, yes, but that is not the repository from which we draw our strength. That credit lies in the earth. The very world under our feet is what empowers us. From the Earth Mother’s bosom, we are sprung, and by her grace, we are given magic. We sit on the floor because it is the closest we can get to her.”

Flamel pressed his skeletal palms to the cold stone and closed his eyes. After a moment of hesitation, Harry followed suit.

“Do you feel it? Even through the dampening stone, you can feel her power. The Earth Mother’s gift to wizardkind.”

Harry pushed outward and focused, much like he did when practising Sensomagy. Initially, he felt nothing but the smooth, cold stone under his fingertips. A thin layer of dust stuck to the pads of his palms, and he resisted the urge to wipe them off on his robes.

Then there was a small tickling sensation on the sensitive flesh of his palms. A rush, like a drop of warm water scattering over his skin. It spread from the tips of his fingers, up his arms, and rushed straight to his brain. He could hear his heart beating faster as a sharp gust of air escaped his lips.

He could hear Flamel’s smile. “Do you feel it? Do you feel her blessing? Can you feel the Ley seep out of the stone into your very bones?”

“The Ley ?”

“The magic, boy,” Flamel snapped. “The ‘Ancient Magic’ as you call it.”

“Oh,” Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Yes, I feel it.”

“Good! Now channel that power. Feel it in every fibre of your being. Let it banish your fears and embolden your strengths. Call on that magic to ignite your flame. Remember, this magic is a gift, yes, but it is yours . It is yours to control and yours to use as you see fit. Only if you believe that can you unlock its potential.”

Harry held his right hand in front of him. He redirected the magic coursing through his veins – the Ley – from his left hand, still on the ground, into his outstretched right. He felt the prickling sensation coalesce in his right hand. From the warmth batting against his forearm, he knew his hand was engulfed in flame. Yet it didn’t hurt. The flames lapped at his skin yet left even the hairs on the back of his hand unharmed.

He opened his eyes and watched the orange and yellow dance across his vision.

In an instant, he was ripped from the classroom. Instead, he stood in a secret room with a mirror. A wall of yellow and orange flame covered his only exit.

Red eyes and purple robes stared him down. A chilling scream left the purple-robed man, sending him collapsing to the floor. Gruesome welts, the shape of handprints, appeared on the man’s exposed skin. He writhed on the floor, a shriek of pain escaping his lips each time he was branded with the handprint of his murderer.

Each time he was branded, Harry’s palms would turn darker and darker. He reached out to help, but the man shrank away at his touch — as if he were the one causing the burn.

Between each scream, the man would whisper only one word. It was a word that Harry was all too acquainted with.

Freak .

A flash of intense pain jolted Harry from his vision. His hand was a motley of ashen skin and purple-red blisters. He couldn’t even feel the pain. All he could do was stare.

Once again, Flamel moved forward with surprising agility. He grabbed Harry roughly by the scruff of the neck and tilted his head back, pouring a vial of calming draught down his throat. A wave of the ancient wizard’s hand returned Harry’s hand to full health, if a little pink and tender.

The wizened wizard released Harry and stepped back.

“You must learn to control yourself,” Flamel chided. “Harnessing the Ley requires conviction. You must believe that you are worthy of the power. You must believe that the gift deserves you. Do you believe yourself to be worthy, Chosen?”

Harry remained silent. His eyes didn’t leave the pink skin of his freshly mended palm. The smell of burning flesh still filled his nostrils.

“We are done for today,” Flamel grumbled. The old man stood, his joints creaking with the movement. “We will meet again in exactly one week.”

Flamel swept out of the room, leaving Harry semi-catatonic on the floor. He stood gingerly, swaying unsteadily as his legs took their sweet time to respond. He stumbled, clutching the nearest wall. When he closed his eyes, he saw red ones looking back at him. With his head in his hands, he slid to the floor.

His vision blurred, and his head pounded. His eardrums pounded with the sound of rushing blood, and his lungs strained out breath in short, uneven gasps. He curled into a ball, his hands fisted so tight his fingernails stained the pink of his palms red.

“There you are!” Ron exclaimed as Harry arrived outside the trophy room. “I thought you’d bailed and left me to clean by myself.”

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. “I got… held up.”

“Flamel putting you through the wringer?” Ron asked sympathetically.

Harry gave a sullen nod. “I’m still struggling just to cast a simple flame charm,” he admitted. “Flamel insists that I need to believe I’m worthy, or something.”

“Worthy? Sounds like a load of tosh to me,” Ron shrugged. Harry bit back a smile as he pushed the door open. It wouldn’t do to smile in front of Filch, who would gladly take any opportunity to stomp out any joy in the world.

The trophy room, like the rest of Hogwarts, was lined with smooth sandstone. Lining the walls were innumerable tapestries and portraits of high-achieving students. Dark oak tables and cabinets were scattered throughout the room. Upon them were the countless trophies, plaques, awards, and commemorations of different shapes, sizes, and glinting metals. One particularly large, copper trophy shaped like a barking dog never failed to bring a smile to Harry’s face.

Until today, that is.

Harry and Ron tuned out the droning lecture from the caretaker with practised ease. As punishment for driving a flying car into the Whomping Willow, they had spent every Wednesday night since October polishing every single plaque, award, and signpost in the Trophy Room. Thankfully, that day was to be their last detention.

Dodging another one of Filch’s tirades about the merits of corporal punishment, Harry and Ron split up to opposite ends of the large room. Over the past month, the two boys had come into a silent routine. Each week, they would switch the sides to start on. That night, Harry was polishing the most recent awardees, working toward the middle, while Ron started at the oldest recipients.

It offered them at least the most pathetic semblance of variety in the endless monotony of trophies.

Harry started at the most recent plaques, scrunching his nose distastefully at the numerous House and Quidditch cups awarded to the Slytherins. He quickly stumbled upon a Quidditch Cup with red and gold accents. It was one he had seen before, yet that day, he felt particularly drawn to it.

“Captain Charlie Weasley,” Harry read off the top of the list of players, his breath misting on the bronze. “Seeker.”

His breath was barely a whisper as he read the words over and over. Above the trophy was a poster. He smiled slightly when he recognised a third-year Oliver. His name was by the title ‘Reserve Keeper’. Harry’s gaze crossed over the other, unfamiliar players before coming to rest on the seeker.

“Did you believe yourself worthy?” Harry asked, his gaze on the picture of the red-headed captain. “If you had my powers, would you have been able to master the Ley by now?”

Harry drank in the features of the older boy. He stood short and stocky like the twins. He even wore an impish grin that held an eerie likeness to Fred and George. But Charlie stood with a relaxed sort of confidence that was uniquely his own. The closest comparison Harry could draw was to Oliver’s calm, assuring presence. And judging by the awed look that the third year gave his captain, Charlie might have been Oliver’s inspiration.

Harry frowned deeply as he traced the lines of Charlie’s features. He envied Charlie’s ability to absorb the very light itself into himself. Everyone admired him; everyone adored him. He was a superstar in the making that everyone wanted to be. He was the greatest thing to happen to Gryffindor Quidditch.

Harry was… just Harry.

He knew he couldn’t fill those shoes.

The chasm was too wide. No matter how many snitches he caught, no matter how many trophies he won, he could never be Charlie Weasley.

Because people trusted Charlie. People depended on Charlie. He didn’t need anyone. In comparison, Harry was weak. He was a mere drop in the ocean. Where Charlie had turned a dysfunctional Quidditch team into championship winners, Harry had nearly caused them to splinter apart by causing the argument between Katie and Alicia. Where Charlie spent his days wrestling with dragons, Harry only distracted his mentor in a life-or-death situation, causing him injury.

Charlie brought light to the world. Harry only brought misery. He knew that to be true. Otherwise, why would the Dursleys spend their entire life telling him?

Charlie was a supernova. Harry was but a freak.

“Get a move on, Potter,” Filch snarled from his chair. Mrs. Norris, who was curled at his feet, mewled her agreement. “Or do you want to be here all night?”

Harry dragged his gaze away from Charlie’s trophy. He felt numb as he moved to the next trophy. And then the next. He barely smiled when he saw his father’s own Quidditch trophy. He didn’t even flinch when he nearly knocked over Tom Riddle’s Special Services to the School award. One by one, the trophies were polished, yet Harry’s thoughts remained the same.

They were an intangible vortex of thoughts, each one darker than the last. The only constant amid the storm was one word.

Unworthy.

The morning of the first Quidditch game of the 1992-93 season was anomalously bright. The clouds were sparse and the sky a stunning blue. The sun beamed down upon the residents of Hogwarts Castle, who were congregated in the Great Hall, which vibrated with anticipation for the upcoming game.

Katie Bell absently chewed on a slice of grapefruit, watching her cousin, Oliver, with amusement.

“The sun is shining, and the birds are out,” Oliver said excitedly. “That’s a great omen, if you ask me!”

Alicia, seated next to Katie, yawned. “Oliver. I beg you. Shut up, please.”

Oliver harrumphed but otherwise ignored her. He returned to his conversation with Angelina, though even her patience seemed to be balancing on a knife’s edge.

Harry slumped into the seat on Katie’s other side. He lethargically piled his plate with sausage links and bacon. She grimaced. Such greasy fare would only make him nauseous if he overate.

Harry picked at his food, chewing on a sausage link as he stared into the distance.

“Nervous, Harry?” Oliver called from down the table. He’d ceased his conversation when the younger boy joined them and scrutinised his youngest teammate’s scruffy appearance.

 Harry shook his head.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said blearily, biting a chunk off his sausage.

Alicia gave him a worried once-over, but he avoided her gaze. Katie frowned. Alicia had been acting strangely all year. It was only after Angelina pointed it out that Katie took notice. She had become overly protective of Harry, sometimes bordering on overbearing. Over time, she’d stopped teasing him like she did with the others. She treated him like he was made of glass, and Katie could tell it was bothering him. She just didn’t know how to broach the subject with either of them.

Her thoughts must’ve shown on her face, because Harry looked at her with concern.

She shook off her frown and smiled at him tepidly.

“Feeling good about today’s match, Harry?”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t push.

“Alright,” he shrugged. “Malfoy’s got the better broom, but I’ve got better teammates.”

“And don’t you forget it!” Katie agreed with a massive grin. “What was it that Hermione said? Malfoy bought his way onto the team, but we got in off pure talent.”

Harry returned a wry grin before taking a large bite out of his sausage.

The two friends returned to their meals, blocking out the excited chatter surrounding them with practised ease.

Soon after, Oliver ushered Katie and her teammates out the door and onto the grounds.

Oliver hadn't been wrong. It was a very nice day. A gentle breeze provided a pleasant contrast to the beaming sun. Long blades of grass tickled at her ankles, and she hummed a jolly tune as she skipped to the pitch.

Walking beside her, Harry snorted. She made a rude gesture, and he only laughed louder.

The entire team was on autopilot inside their changing room. Elbow pads were exchanged, and practice quaffles were tossed back and forth. Katie just barely avoided getting a concussion from a stray swing of George’s beater bat.

“If you do that again, that bat’s going so far up your arse that you’ll be able to taste the varnish,” she threatened. George gave her a saintly smile in return.

She rolled her eyes. Before she knew it, she was in the air as Lee Jordan announced her team. She indulged in the customary teasing as Harry’s pseudonym was called. To her disappointment, he barely reacted to the girls’ catcalls. Katie’s brow furrowed at his steely expression.

It was as Oliver exchanged a bone-crushing handshake with Flint that Katie surveilled her opponents. The first thing to catch her eye was the gleaming, polished Nimbus 2001s upon which the entire Slytherin team was mounted.

“That’s going to be fun,” she mumbled as she drifted towards her fellow chasers.

“Hmm?” Angelina asked, her attention still on her opponents.

“Outpacing Nimbus 2001s,” Katie clarified. “I don’t reckon that’s going to be a walk in the park.”

Alicia grinned. “Their fancy brooms won’t matter if we knock them out of the sky!”

Angelina and Katie both gave her nonplussed looks.

“Right,” Angelina’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Because Katie, who’s barely pushing five feet, is going to knock Marcus ‘Troll-blood’ Flint off his broom.”

“Oi, what are you bringing up my height for?” Katie groused. Angelina only laughed.

“Ooh, look,” Angelina jerked her head in the Slytherin team’s direction. “Doesn’t look like Bole and Malfoy are getting along.”

Katie watched their green-and-silver opponents curiously. She could just about make out Malfoy’s shiny blond head as he berated an older, dark-haired boy. The older boy, Bole, scowled but didn’t retort. When Malfoy turned away from Bole, the beater glared daggers into the back of his head. From the way Bole thumbed his beater’s bat, Katie could tell he was resisting the urge to practice his swings on Malfoy’s head.

Katie wished he would take a swing or two at the bigoted second year. Alas, she knew that Malfoy’s father was far too influential at the Ministry for anyone to enact their desire for retribution.

Privately, Katie thought that donating a sickle to get a chance to whack Malfoy around was a great idea for a fundraiser.

She shook off her increasingly violent plots and turned back to her team. She relaxed her jaw, which she hadn’t even realised was clenched.

“I suppose we can expect that Malfoy won’t get too much help against the bludgers,” she surmised, to Angelina’s nod. “We’ve got to tell Harry and the twins.”

“I got it,” Harry said from her right.

Katie jumped in place and nearly slipped off her broom. Harry made to steady her, but she waved him off.

“Merlin, how long have you been standing there?” She asked incredulously. He only grinned sheepishly.

“The past three minutes,” he admitted.

“You need to stop sneaking up on me unannounced,” she groused. From his wide grin, she knew that her words would only encourage him. She shook her head exasperatedly.

“But thanks for noticing that,” Harry nodded at Angelina. “I’ll let the twins know when they’re done with their warm-up.”

He looked behind him, and Katie craned her neck to follow. The twins were hitting a rubber ball at each other in an odd facsimile of tennis. Harry grimaced.

“There’s no chance that I’m getting in the middle of that,” he said. “I like my brain unscrambled, thank you very much.”

Katie’s expression turned mournful. “Harry, I don’t know how to tell you this… I’m sorry, but your brain was never unscrambled.”

Harry faked surprise. “It was always scrambled?”

She nodded solemnly. “Always has been.”

“Stop saying scrambled,” Angelina groaned. “You both sound stupid.”

A snort poked through Harry's faux surprise, and he made rude gestures at both chasers. Katie grinned back before coasting through the air toward the centre of the pitch, where Oliver and the Slytherin team were already gathered.

The grass crunched under Katie’s feet. She stood unflinching before the nasty looks and cruel grins she received from her opponents. Malfoy sneered at her, and she cracked her knuckles. She had to grin when he instantly averted his gaze.

The captains exchanged a handshake (read: they attempted to break each other’s fingers) and listened to Madam Hooch’s spiel about conduct and sportsmanship that everyone knew would be promptly ignored.

Once again, the players were in the air. Katie huddled with Angelina and Alicia.

“Alright, girls,” Angelina said with a feral grin. “Time for revenge.”

“It’s about damn time,” Alicia growled, glaring at the side of Flint’s head. “I’m going to put those damn snakes in the dirt.”

Katie shuddered. She’d hate to be any of the Slytherin players right then.

Angelina explained their game plan. They were fully expecting the Slytherins to play physical. Alicia and Katie were too small to go toe-to-toe with the Slytherins in a physical scuffle, and even Angelina would get bowled over by the older, larger Flint. What they had going for them was speed, teamwork, and implicit trust.

Precise passing was their ticket to a clean victory. The girls needed to keep the Slytherins from getting too close, and the best route was to keep them guessing.

The talk of passes reminded Katie of their last game against Slytherin.

“What are the chances that Pucey is still miffed at Flint?” She asked abruptly. Angelina, who’d been explaining their opening ploy, paused in thought. As one, the three chasers turned to look at their green-and-silver counterparts.

Alicia hummed. “I don’t know about Pucey, but Warrington doesn’t look too cosy with his mates.”

The Slytherin chasers were speaking in harsh whispers. Warrington glared at Flint and Pucey, who looked to have put their disagreement behind them. Angelina whistled, impressed.

“This game might be easier than we thought,” she grinned at her fellows. “Nice catch, Katie.”

“I try,” responded the girl in question. Alicia smirked.

“No, you don’t. You just show up, score a couple of goals, and leave.”

“That’s the entire game,” Katie deadpanned.

“That’s what you think,” Alicia said sagely. Katie was saved from a response by Madam Hooch signalling the chasers to prepare for the initial contest.

Angelina gestured to herself and Alicia, then pointed at Flint and Warrington. Katie nodded. Those were the most likely to go after the quaffle. Flint was the only one supposed to, but with the fracturing relationship that she had witnessed, she would not be surprised if Warrington was frustrated enough with his teammates to break from the plan.

Madam Hooch’s whistle cut through the air, and Katie pressed flat on her broom. The Cleansweep Seven rattled under her fingertips as she dove under Pucey, who swung at her. The game had barely begun, and the Slytherins were already attempting fouls? Merlin, this was going to be a rough match.

Katie swung wide out of Pucey’s reach. The quaffle plummeted toward the Earth as her best friends played spoiler against their Slytherin counterparts. She reached for the quaffle and plucked it out of the sky. Before she could tuck it under her arm, she felt a yanking sensation as she was nearly pulled off her broom. She dropped the quaffle as both her arms wrapped around her broom.

To her side, a scarlet blur appeared, and Angelina shoved Pucey, who’d grabbed the train of her robes. The blistering speed with which he’d doubled back to her was only possible with his Nimbus 2001.

“Alright, there, Katie-Kat?” Angelina asked worriedly, her steadying hand on the younger girl’s shoulder.

“I was, until you called me that,” Katie said with a scrunched nose. Angelina only laughed before patting her on the shoulder. She looked around, noticing the game had come to a standstill. “Shouldn’t we be playing?”

Angelina snorted. “You think Hooch is letting Pucey get away with such an egregious foul? We’re waiting for you to take the penalty.”

Shaking off her nausea, Katie floated to the penalty line, where Madam Hooch was waiting with the quaffle.

“Start on my whistle,” Hooch instructed as she handed her the quaffle.

Katie nodded and stared Bletchley down. On the shrill whistle, she drifted slowly, taking care to stay well behind the throw line. She didn’t want to lose her point because she got too close to the posts, after all.

She smirked at the keeper before abruptly accelerating towards the left hoop. He braced with one outstretched arm, ready to switch directions. She noticed him drift toward the left hoop unintentionally.

“Just like last year”, she thought gleefully. She wrenched her broom to the right, pulling a sharp turn and rearing her arm back to throw. Bletchley swung around wildly, moving to cover the centre and right hoops, leaving her original target, the left hoop, wide open. From there, it was the easiest toss of her life.

She turned around as the quaffle soared through the goal. Alicia and Angelina whooped and patted her on the back as she took a victory lap. She turned around to see Pucey and Flint glaring at her.

“What’s got their knickers in a twist?” Katie mumbled, eliciting a snort from Angelina.

“Well, you did break Malfoy’s nose,” said the older girl. Katie tutted.

“They’re still mad about that?” She rolled her eyes. Angelina stared incredulously before dissolving into laughter.

“Only you would punch someone, then be surprised they’re still angry about it,” Angelina shook her head fondly.

“I’ll keep all their eyes on me, I suppose.”

Angelina rolled her eyes before grinning wide. “Katie, you just gave me an idea.”

Katie raised an eyebrow. “What, you want me to headbutt them?”

Angelina shook her head and smacked her forehead. “Why didn’t I think of this earlier? Merlin, I’m such a bonehead.”

“Want to explain to the rest of us plebeians?” Alicia said dryly, her attention captured by Angelina’s excitement.

“Decoys!” She exclaimed. “We’ve been practising our decoys, and now is the perfect time to try them out!”

Alicia barked out a laugh. “How did you take so long to figure that out?”

Angelina made a rude gesture before flying off, with Alicia and Katie’s laughter trailing her.

The match turned out to be one of the most physical Quidditch games that Katie had ever played. The Slytherins were out for her blood, and only Bole and Warrington seemed to be trying to play the game.

She was battered and bruised and exhausted, but her team was winning by a landslide. They were nearly a hundred points up, despite the girls fighting an uphill battle because Fred, George, and Harry weren’t providing the support that she and the others had become used to. The game was progressing too fast for her to question them, however. The Slytherins were throwing the quaffle back into play instantly, not even allowing the scoring Gryffindors their victory lap. That was a huge faux pas that not even the snakes had committed in the past. The instant turnovers plus the lightning-fast Slytherin brooms allowed no downtime for any of the Gryffindor chasers.

The reason for Harry and the twins’ absences became evident when Harry rocketed past her, a bludger in his wake. It passed Katie, completely ignoring her. Harry made a sharp turn, trying to use the bludger’s momentum to slingshot into Warrington. The bludger swerved, refusing to switch targets.

Katie slowed down, her mouth agape as she watched the bludger ignore every other player to chase the Gryffindor seeker. Fred swooped in, using both arms to slam the bludger into Warrington. With a precision that betrayed both the bludger’s enchantments and the laws of physics, the bludger turned away from Warrington and back towards Harry.

Even the Slytherin chaser paused in surprise as the black metal ball single-mindedly pursued Harry.

Katie found Alicia and Angelina staring at Harry’s retreating form. The bludger accelerated at him, and he rolled away just in time to keep his head.

Their eyes met, and Alicia yelled something at Angelina, who turned her back to the game, signalling Oliver for a timeout. After a few moments, Hooch’s whistle rang through the stadium, and the Gryffindor team huddled around their hoops.

“Why’d you call a timeout?” Oliver asked. “They’re barely even passing to each other. We’re destroying them.”

Before Angelina could explain, Harry interjected. “Katie, you look terrible; what’s going on?”

Katie grinned weakly. “Thanks, Harry. That’s exactly what a girl wants to hear.”

He sputtered, blood rushing up his neck.

“The whole Slytherin team, except Bole and Warrington, has it out for Katie,” Angelina explained. “They’re not even trying to win; they just want to hurt Katie.”

Oliver’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “What are they going after Katie for?”

“Probably because I punched Malfoy,” Katie shrugged, and Oliver groaned.

“We’ve been using her as a decoy,” Angelina explained. “And it’s working great, but I’m spread thin leading the play and keeping Katie on her broom. I need my beaters on that task.”

“They’ve been preoccupied with that bludger that’s going after Harry,” Oliver explained, looking at the second year. “What did you do to piss it off, mate?”

“I don’t know!” Harry said helplessly. “Ever since the first whistle, it’s been on my arse!”

“That thing is like a demon possessed,” George nodded grimly. “We’ve been preoccupied keeping him alive.”

“It’s definitely jinxed,” added Fred.

Alicia and Oliver exchanged a worried look. Katie gasped.

“You don’t think it’s like last year?” She asked, though their expressions gave away the answer. “Like Quirrell?”

“We have to forfeit,” Alicia urged, and Oliver’s face twisted in displeasure. “Oliver – Harry could be seriously hurt.”

Katie nodded her agreement, and Angelina grudgingly joined her. She watched Harry’s face crumple with fear, and her heart went out to him. But the next instant, grim determination reinforced his expression with steel.

“No, Alicia,” he disagreed vehemently. “I can handle this. Fred and George, focus on protecting Katie. I’ll get us that snitch.”

“But –” Katie began, but Harry cut her off.

“I can fly circles around that bludger. You know I can,” he insisted. He gave her a grin intended to reassure. “Trust me.”

“Oliver, surely you won’t allow this.” Alicia turned to the captain, who looked conflicted. “This is more than just Quidditch now.”

“Captain, we can do this,” Harry said, the resolution clear in his tone. He looked at Katie and spoke quietly. “We can’t let them get away with what they said about Hermione.”

Katie’s hands balled into fists. She remained silent, not assenting, but not dissenting either.

Oliver sighed and rubbed his temples. He nodded. “All right. You have your way, Harry. Let’s finish this quick and get back on the ground with everyone in one piece, understand?”

Alicia growled, but Angelina squeezed her shoulder, and the shorter girl remained silent.

“Thank you,” Harry grinned. “I’ll get us that snitch. Promise.”

“Don’t you dare do anything stupid and get yourself hurt,” Alicia poked his chest, and he wilted under her glare.

“Depends on what you classify as stupid,” Harry said cheekily.

Katie swallowed the feeling of foreboding before shooting back into the sky.

“At least Harry only has to deal with one bludger,” Katie grumbled to herself. “I’ve got three mountain trolls trying to set me up on a date with Madam Pomfrey.”

Alicia snorted, though her thoughts were elsewhere. Katie grinned weakly.

“He’ll be alright,” Katie said. Alicia only nodded jerkily.

The chasers returned to their game. The timeout hadn’t soothed the Slytherins’ aggression any. Foul after foul was awarded to the Gryffindors, and Katie was half-surprised that the game hadn’t been cancelled.

She dodged a barrelling Flint, baiting him into George’s bludger. The metal ball connected with Flint’s shoulder, eliciting a pained cry from the older boy as he dropped the quaffle.

Katie seized the opportunity, swooping down and snatching the quaffle out of its free fall.

She slipped into the opening, gaining a massive swathe of space as her teammates joined her.

Angelina made the call for a Hawkshead formation, throwing up the sign for the decoy.

Katie grinned, slowing down so that her teammates were ahead of her. She sped up to overtake them, lobbing the quaffle to Angelina, who tucked it under her right arm, obscured by Katie’s form ahead.

The formation nearly made it all the way to the scoring box before they were forced to scatter by an errant bludger.

Katie shot straight for the right hoop, and Flint came to block her.

She dodged away from him and followed his eyes as they flitted between her teammates. She nearly laughed. He was looking for who she was going to pass to.

 She couldn’t resist the urge to show off. She flew closer to him, close enough that he could see that the quaffle she was seemingly cradling was imaginary.

His eyes widened, and he turned around just in time to see Angelina switch the quaffle into her dominant hand and sink the point against an unprepared Bletchley.

If looks could kill, Flint would be locked in Azkaban for life. Thankfully, that wasn’t possible, so Katie only mock-saluted as she dashed away.

That set the tone for the rest of the match. The Gryffindors were racking up points left and right, from a lethal combination of strategy, having their beaters back, and baiting the angry Slytherins into making bad decisions.

However, Gryffindor’s defence was beginning to stagnate. It was plain to see that Alicia was distracted, making uncharacteristic mistakes. She was falling for obvious feints and was often caught glancing up at the sky where Harry and the bludger were doing their dangerous dance. Angelina and Katie’s tag-team decoy offence was winning them points, but with Alicia distracted, their defence was suffering. If Katie and Angelina lost possession, there was a good chance that the Slytherins, with their superior brooms, would make it to Oliver.

The first sight of the snitch signalled the impending end of the match.

Harry rocketed past her, the bludger tailing close behind him. She followed his form as he chased the tiny golden ball. He followed close behind him. Seeing Malfoy chase her teammate, Katie dipped over her broom before flying at Malfoy. The blond Slytherin yelped as he swerved wildly to dodge.

It would be the easiest snitch catch of Harry’s career. The snitch made a sharp right turn, and Harry arced his broom as he followed. He was within grasping distance of the snitch, and Katie paused to watch the intense catch.

Then the bludger made the most peculiar move. Instead of veering away with its momentum or following Harry as it had all game, it curved around and flew right for Harry’s side.

Katie saw Harry turn his head and look at the bludger. She could hear a voice yell at him to slow down, duck, anything to get out of the way of the bludger. He glanced at the hurtling black metal ball before turning back to the snitch. Harry lurched forward, and the shadow of his palm shrouded the winged ball.

Then, the bludger struck.

It hit him right in the side of the head. Harry’s grip faltered, and he went flying off his broom. Katie heard a scream as he hurtled to the ground, only to realise it was her own. She pressed flat against her broom in a futile attempt to catch him, but it was for nought. She was too slow, and he was simply too far away.

Harry hit the grass with a wet crunch. His broom clattered to the ground a couple of meters away. Thankfully, the chase had taken him relatively close to the ground, so his fall hadn’t been too bad, but Katie was more concerned about the bludger to the head.

Her mind was blank as she hit the grass. She stumbled as her feet readjusted to walking, but didn’t stop. She was the first person to reach him, though she heard her teammates land behind her.

His arm was bent at an odd angle, and his lips were frozen in a cry of pain as he lay limp on the grass.

She knelt before him, hands poised to help, before she realised she had zero idea what to do.

“Harry?” She asked feebly, though she knew from his closed eyes that no response was coming. Fear gripped her heart, and her mouth was filled with the salty taste of her own tears. She touched the side of his head where she’d seen the bludger hit him, and whimpered as her hand came away sticky and red.

Alicia skidded to a halt in front of Katie. “Is he –”

Her voice gave out to a choked sob. Katie put her bloodstained hand in front of his nostrils and cried in relief when she felt the slight pressure of airflow. “He’s breathing.”

Alicia collapsed to the ground at his side. “Thank Merlin.”

Madam Hooch was the first adult to reach the scene. She ushered away the red-and-gold-clad Quidditch players who had crowded around Harry. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore sprinted over, exhibiting an agility befitting someone half their age.

Dumbledore’s face was lined with steel, a far cry from the grandfatherly smile he frequented. He waved his wand and the rogue bludger that lay suspended in the air at the pausing of the match was sent zooming back towards Hooch’s office, it’s intended storage location.

Angelina approached and wrapped her arms around the chasers, pulling them away from Harry. “Come on, girls, let’s allow Madam Pomfrey to do her job.”

Despite her calm tone, her face was also streaked with tears.

Madam Pomfrey didn’t speak. She instantly dropped to her knees and checked Harry’s pulse before running several charms. Her eyebrows raised, and she pried open his closed fist. Clutched tight between Harry’s fingers was the golden snitch.

“ Sonorus ,” cast Madam Hooch, and Dumbledore instantly waved his wand, and a translucent dome appeared around them.

Katie, Alicia, and Angelina, who were on the inside, could barely hear Madam Hooch, but they knew that she was announcing the end of the game. Gryffindor had won by a landslide, but none of them felt like celebrating.

Katie laughed softly, and the other chasers looked at her as if she’d grown a second head.

“He did say that he would catch the snitch,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “And so continues his flawless record.”

Madam Hooch tapped her wand to her throat, and Dumbledore collapsed the silencing ward. The chatter of the outside world returned, overwhelming Katie with stimuli to pair with her exhausting emotions.

“He’s stable,” Madam Pomfrey announced as she stood. “He’ll be alright.”

Madam Pomfrey turned back and smiled at the girls, who heaved a collective sigh of relief. Pomfrey conjured a stretcher with a short wave of her wand before she and Dumbledore levitated Harry onto it. The headmaster’s commanding presence and rare seriousness parted the crowd, allowing Madam Pomfrey safe passage.

Angelina pulled Alicia to her feet, allowing the distraught girl to cling to her.

“He’ll be alright,” Angelina whispered. “You heard Madam Pomfrey; he’ll be just fine.”

Oliver and the twins approached, and Alicia’s features twisted into rage.

“You!” Alicia shrugged off Angelina’s arm, stalking over to Oliver and pressing her finger to his chest. “I told you to forfeit the game. I told you he could get seriously hurt. I fucking told you , but you wouldn’t listen.”

“But we won, so it’s all worth it, right?” She said bitterly. “Are you happy now that Harry is in the Hospital wing?”

Oliver looked as if he’d been slapped by every one of Alicia’s words. “Of course not! I’m sorry, I didn’t –”

Alicia huffed before turning away and stalking toward the changing rooms.

Katie made the journey up to the Hospital Wing alone. After the game, no one felt the desire to celebrate. She didn’t know whether the usual post-match party was in full swing, but she was confident no one from the team would be there. Alicia had disappeared after she snapped at Oliver, with Angelina in tow. The twins were unnaturally sombre and promised to stop by the Hospital Wing later, when the nurse was allowing guests. Oliver had been mostly unresponsive, and when Katie asked him how he was feeling, he had told her, not unkindly, that he just needed a moment to himself.

That left Katie on a solitary journey to the Hospital Wing, accompanied only by her concern and guilt.

Concern for the boy who had, over the last year, become one of her best friends. Despite being a half-blood, she had grown up among Muggles. She had heard stories of debilitating head injuries and the immense burden of living with them. Her mind cooked up the absolute worst scenarios, ranging from total memory loss to paralysis. The notion of brain-death or even death-death niggled at the back of her mind, but she pushed it aside. The thought was too painful even to consider.

From the concern bloomed guilt. Harry’s words rang through her head.

I can handle this. Fred and George, focus on protecting Katie.

The twins, who had been helping Harry, had left him to fend for himself to help her . Because she couldn’t handle getting roughed up a little by the Slytherin players. For all their vile attitudes and cruel sneers, she knew they would never hurt her in such an extreme manner.

The worst that could’ve happened to her was a bruise or two. She should have just sucked it up and dealt with the situation, because maybe then Harry would be alright.

She knocked lightly against the door of the hospital wing. Harry probably wasn’t allowed visitors, but she had no idea where else to go. The common room didn’t feel right – how could she go to the team’s hangout spot when one of their ranks was missing? She dared not go to the library, lest she run into Hermione. How could Katie face the bushy-haired witch when she was the reason their friend was hurt?

She supposed she just needed to see him. She couldn’t close her eyes because all she could see was Harry’s frail, broken body on the grass.

No one opened the door, so Katie pushed it open. To her surprise, the door gave, and she took a tentative step inside the Hospital Wing.

The Hospital Wing was exactly as she remembered it from her last visit earlier in the year, when she’d borrowed some products from Madam Pomfrey. The smell of disinfectant invaded her nose, which, combined with the painted white walls and rows of beds, completed the quintessential Hospital Wing picture.

Madam Pomfrey was hunched over a tray of vials.

“Unless it’s an emergency, could this wait but a moment?” asked the matron without looking. “No visitors at the moment, either. I – Miss Bell? What can I do for you? Do you need more serviettes?”

Katie flushed and shook her head. “No, I just wanted to come see Harry. Is he all right?”

“He will be just fine,” she smiled reassuringly. Katie wrung her hands nervously, awaiting her dismissal.

“I – Is there anything I could do? To help, maybe?” She tried. Pomfrey raised an eyebrow.

“You’d like to help?” The matron asked with an amused smile. “Quite like your mother, you are. I remember she, too, loved helping me out with patients.”

“You knew my mother?” Katie asked, wide-eyed. She’d grown up with stories about her mother, but considering they had all been told by her father, she was excited at the prospect of a new perspective.

Pomfrey bustled about, dipping into her office before returning with a tray of vials.

“Let us work while we speak,” Pomfrey said. “How would you like to be my assistant for the day?”

“Sure,” Katie said shyly. “What would you like me to do?”

“Familiarise yourself with these vials,” Pomfrey gestured to the tray. “We will use these on Mister Potter in just a bit. Some of these may already be known to you.”

Katie swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and nodded. She picked up the first vial, committing the name and the lurid green colour to memory.

Pomfrey cleared her throat as she cast some spells behind a curtained bed. A bed that Katie realised belonged to Harry.

“Isidora was a third-year student when I started working at Hogwarts. That year, there was a bad dragonpox outbreak. Thankfully, dragon pox isn’t too severe for younger patients, just unpleasant.”

Pomfrey cast a spell, and a soft blue glow illuminated behind the curtains.

“The Hospital was overflowing with patients, and I’ll admit that I was a little overwhelmed,” Pomfrey said wryly, appearing from behind the curtains. She rummaged in a drawer and withdrew a large swathe of bandages.

At Katie’s questioning look, the nurse explained. “Mister Potter’s injury has caused internal injuries, so until I heal those, I cannot seal the cut in his head. If I try, the magic might overstep and attempt to heal his internal wounds, leaving them half healed and potentially damaging his brain. So, until I heal his internal wounds, I will be employing muggle means to keep the external ones closed.”

Pomfrey used a cutting charm to slice the bandages into long strips. “Always be careful and deliberate with using magic for head injuries,” she cautioned. “Neither magical nor Muggle academia fully understands the brain, so mistakes are difficult to correct. Thankfully, blunt force trauma like Mister Potter received is easily rectified.”

Pomfrey gave Katie a reassuring smile, and the girl, who had since turned pale, smiled back weakly.

“So, he’ll be fine?”

“As right as rain,” Pomfrey agreed. “You have no reason to worry, Miss Bell. If we’re lucky, he might even wake by next week.”

The weight on Katie’s shoulders lightened. Her shoulders relaxed, and her resting expression returned to a smile. A forced smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“Now, could you pass me the vial of dittany?” Pomfrey asked. Katie quickly found the translucent green liquid and passed it to the healer. “Very prompt; thank you!”

Katie preened under the praise, pretending to study a vial of blood replenishing potion she knew like the back of her hand.

“Where were we? Oh yes, the dragon pox,” Pomfrey hummed as she spread drops of dittany on the bandages. “So many people were in the Hospital Wing, and I was pushed to my limit helping everyone. So, imagine my surprise when a thirteen-year-old girl just walked into my office one day, much like yourself, and said she wanted to help.”

Katie laughed. Her father always said that her mother was incredibly bold. “A Gryffindor through and through,” he’d said.

“Of course, she had no idea what she was doing,” Pomfrey smiled nostalgically, her eyes in a faraway time. “Her first week or so, I had her sorting my potions while I worked, just like you are right now. She was a fast learner and quickly began to take on more tasks.”

“After she graduated, she trained to be a healer under me,” Pomfrey said to Katie’s surprise. “She was a gentle soul, with enough space in her heart to care for the entire world. Her patience knew no bounds, except when sitting in front of her meal. That girl could eat, I tell you!”

Katie laughed, soaking up every bite of information about her mother.

“When you walked in, asking to help, I will admit was transported back in time for a moment,” Pomfrey admitted. “You look very much like her.”

“Were the two of you close?” Katie asked quietly.

“Indeed,” the matron replied. “She was every bit the daughter I never had. I know I’m not supposed to show preferential treatment, but just between you and me, she was my favourite student.”

Pomfrey winked as she stepped back behind the curtain, the bandages floating behind her. Katie grinned.

“Would you be a dear and hand me the anti-inflammation solution?” Pomfrey asked, her outstretched hand sticking past the curtains. Katie quickly picked the amber coloured vial out of the tray and placed it in the nurse’s hand. “Thank you, dear.”

Katie stood awkwardly as Madam Pomfrey worked behind the curtain.

“Did you know that I delivered you as a baby?”

Katie choked on her own spittle. “ What ?”

Pomfrey laughed riotously, and Katie felt a smile creep onto her face despite the burning feeling in her cheeks.

Chapter Text

Angelina Johnson was exhausted. After Pomfrey and Dumbledore carted Harry off, the team stood in morbid silence in the Gryffindor Quidditch changing room. She watched her best friend, Alicia, engrave crop circles into the stone floor as she paced.

Oliver had walked with Katie, and the two spoke in hushed voices. Angelina had chased after Alicia, who stormed off alone after yelling at their captain.

After a final word to Oliver, Katie had loitered on the pitch in a half-zombie daze. Angelina was concerned for her younger friend, but Oliver subtly shook his head.

Alicia needs you more , his look said, before he promptly locked himself in his office.

Her best friend was in a state just shy of hysteria. The girl was barely coherent at times and prone to lashing out, so Angelina made the smart decision to remain silent.

“Do you think Pomfrey would allow us to visit him?”

Angelina sighed — so much for silence. “No, Alicia. It’s barely been twenty minutes. I doubt she’s even done healing him.”

Alicia nodded before continuing her pacing. She wrung her hands.

“I should have done something ,” Alicia said helplessly. “I should have tried harder to get us to forfeit. I should have convinced Oliver. Maybe I could have caught him if I’d been paying closer attention.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself,” Angelina said, pulling the other girl into the seat beside her. She hugged Alicia’s side, trying to reassure her best friend. “There’s nothing you could have done. And it doesn’t matter. You heard Madam Pomfrey; he’ll be just fine.”

“I know, I know, I just — I feel so useless,” Alicia mumbled, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t get the image out of my head. He looked so… broken.”

Angelina could only hug Alicia tighter. The shorter girl leaned into her embrace before suddenly standing. She wrung her hands nervously, her cheeks tinged pink.

“I-I need to go do something,” she said quickly. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing without driving myself insane. I’ll see you in the evening?”

Angelina smiled and nodded. Alicia turned away and nearly fled the changing room.

What had that been about?

With a confused shake of her head, Angelina stood and made her way to the captain’s office. She knocked on the door. No response. She knocked harder, three more times. Still no response.

“I swear to Morgana, Oliver,” She yelled, slamming her fist against the hardwood despite the soreness she was beginning to feel. “I know you’re in here. It’s been a long day, and I don’t have the energy for this. If you don’t open this door right now, I will blow it off its hinges!”

She just about stopped herself from driving her knuckles into Oliver’s chest when the door swung open.

“Well, you look like shite,” she deadpanned. And that he did. His short hair was dishevelled, and his robes were crumpled and creased. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his expression was frantic, like a cornered deer.

“Thanks,” Oliver gave her a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Morgana’s tits, what have you done here?” She asked, stepping inside the room and taking stock of the surrounding carnage. The captain’s office was in shambles. Picture frames were in pieces, and shards of glass littered the floor. Plaques, trophies, and awards older than her entire bloodline lay discarded from their cases and stands.

The only trophy left untouched, Angelina noticed with a smile, was the most recent Quidditch Cup.

Angelina turned to Oliver with her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. He looked away sheepishly. She shook her head in exasperation before pulling out her wand.

“ Reparo; Wingardium Leviosa ,” she incanted. One by one, she began putting the room back into place. After a moment, a shamefaced Oliver joined her. Once the office looked exactly as it had that morning, Angelina dropped into the captain’s chair and kicked her feet up. Oliver raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. She grinned as she gestured to the seat across from her.

“Sit,” she said, her tone belying that her words weren’t a request. Oliver obliged, though he didn’t look all too happy at being bossed around.

Boohoo.

“Now,” Angelina leaned back and peered down at Oliver between her steepled fingers. “What demon possessed you to wreck your own office like this?”

Oliver sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Were you angry?” She asked dubiously. “At Alicia? For what she said earlier?”

He let out a hollow laugh. “Of course not. Nothing that she said was untrue, was it?”

Angelina pursed her lips. “Yourself, then.”

He didn’t respond.

Angelina sighed deeply before removing her feet from the desk. She sat up straight and rubbed her temples.

“You messed up today,” she said softly. Oliver looked defeated as he nodded. She continued. “You ignored the will of the majority, and Harry got hurt as a result. Alicia is hysterical, and I don’t even know what Katie is going through right now. And that’s not mentioning the twins. Who knows what they’ll do.”

Her own bitterness seeped through. Every one of her words seemed to make Oliver’s shoulders stiffen further and further.

“I’m sorry that I ruined everything,” Oliver snapped. “I’m getting used to the feeling.”

“That’s unfair, and you know it,” Angelina said tersely.

Oliver scoffed. “For the record, I didn’t wreck the place because I was angry.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why then?”

“Thank you for your concern, but I just need to be alone right now,” he said evasively.

Angelina was getting frustrated. “Can you stop being such a right arsehole? I’m just trying to help, you stank-faced tosser.”

“That’s a new one,” he commented blandly. She just groaned and put her head in her hands.

 “Come on, mate. You know I’m just trying to help. Pushing your feelings deeper down your gullet is only going to give you a bad case of diarrhoea.”

“When did you become so wise?” He replied snidely. She rolled her eyes.

“When I realised my friends were all some kind of twisted in the head,” she deadpanned. “Now, don’t change the topic.”

Oliver fell silent.

“Oliver.”

Silence.

“Oliver.”

“Oliver, don’t ignore me.”

“Damn it, you prat!” She was yelling now, a crimson pallor overtaking her dark skin. “Don’t give me the silent treatment. I will hex your hair off!”

“Fine!” He yelled, red-faced and red-eyed. “I’m ashamed! I’m ashamed. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?”

Angelina remained silent, letting his anger run its course.

“I’m bloody disgusted with myself because I let Harry get hurt. Not once, not twice, but three times!” He bellowed, pacing the room as he ran his hands through his hair and tugged at the ends. “He’s my player. He’s my responsibility. He got kidnapped by bloody You-Know-Who because I didn’t realise something was wrong with him! We spent over an hour down at the kitchens, and I never realised something was up. Then, he nearly got his head taken off by a bludger because I didn’t forfeit a stupid game! And over the summer —”

Oliver made a strangled noise before falling silent.

“What was that last part?” Angelina asked coolly. Oliver shook his head.

“It’s—it’s nothing.”

“I know it isn’t nothing, Oliver,” Angelina said sourly. “You know how I know? Because people don’t usually look like they got kicked in the bollocks by a hippogriff when they say that.”

“Drop it, Angelina,” Oliver said firmly. Angelina’s teeth ground together.

“I’ve been dropping it for the past three months, Oliver, and I’m sick of it.” Her voice didn’t rise, but her anger was palpable. Cold, sizzling fury borne out of months of being lied to and deemed unimportant. “You and Alicia and the bloody twins? You told the twins, but you won’t tell me?”

“That’s not -” Oliver started, but she cut him off.

“I thought I was your friend, Oliver,” Angelina snapped, months of insecurity fuelling the frigidity of her tone. “I thought I was Alicia’s friend, too. But I guess you lot don’t trust me as much as I do you.”

She shook her head abruptly before taking a stumbling step toward the door.

“I—I need some air,” she said, feeling light-headed. She twisted the doorknob, not daring to look back at her friend. “I’ll see you around.”

Angelina fled the office, wiping her tears on her sleeve, and leaving her confused and distraught captain in her wake.

Much like her best friend in the captain’s office, Alicia Spinnet was not having a great time. She was angry. Angry at Harry for insisting on playing out the game, at Oliver for letting him, and at herself for her helplessness as she watched her friend fall out of the sky. Her head felt woolly, and her brain struggled to keep up with the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. What confused her most was that some were unrelated to Harry. She forced Angelina out of her thoughts.

She wandered the grounds aimlessly, letting the icy air freeze her from within. The sharp feeling of the shrapnel poking at her lungs was a welcome reprieve from the overwhelming myriad of emotions she felt engulfed in.

“Miss Spinnet, please come inside, or else you will get sick,” Professor McGonagall’s voice called from the castle. Alicia turned to see her head of house looking at her disapprovingly.

It was then that Alicia realised she wasn’t wearing any winter clothes, dressed as she was in her Quidditch robes. Her brain caught up with her body, and her teeth suddenly began chattering.

She hobbled back to the castle, responding to the professor’s unamused look with a chagrined shrug.

“May I ask what you were doing outside without a coat in November?” McGonagall asked as they walked in the general direction of Gryffindor Tower.

“Walking,” Alicia said glibly. She could’ve sworn she saw the corner of McGonagall’s mouth twitch.

“That much is obvious,” McGonagall said dryly. Alicia paused. Was that sarcasm?

“May I join you on your ‘walk’?” asked the professor, oblivious to Alicia’s incredulity. Alicia nodded, and the two walked in silence, the tap of their shoes against stone the only sounds to permeate the hallway.

“You will be happy to learn that Madam Pomfrey predicts that Potter will make a full recovery,” McGonagall said neutrally.

Alicia felt as if the fluff crowding her head dissipated just a little more, and her thoughts were hers to control. She wiped the tears on the sleeve of her robe and was grateful to find that McGonagall was pointedly admiring a portrait of a goblin forging a suit of armour.

“Does she know when he will wake?” Alicia’s words came out more like a croak. She cleared her throat embarrassedly. McGonagall shook her head.

“Unfortunately, Potter’s injuries were centred around his head,” she explained. “One must use as little magic as possible when the brain is involved, so Madam Pomfrey is letting his injuries heal naturally. Until then, he will remain asleep. However, Madam Pomfrey predicts that his recovery may take up to a week.”

Alicia nodded. The tightness in her shoulders relaxed just a little.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Miss Spinnet?”

“How is Harry’s… home life?”

“Pardon?” McGonagall asked dangerously, and Alicia backpedalled.

“Well, I know that you visited Harry for his exams and found the same things that the twins did. They told me they found a mattress in the broom cupboard…” She trailed off at McGonagall’s stern look. The professor’s lips thinned, and she rubbed her temples.

“This is not a conversation meant to be held in a hallway.”

The professor led Alicia to her office and sat down behind her desk. Alicia looked nervously at the neatly arranged desk and the organised rows of scrolls that lined the classroom. Meanwhile, McGonagall watched Alicia with a sharp look.

“I suppose it was wishful thinking to hope that Messrs Weasley would keep their recollections of Potter’s rescue to themselves.”

Alicia jutted her chin out stubbornly. “We're his friends; we just want to help.”

McGonagall pursed her lips. “I do not deny your bond with Potter, nor do I doubt that you want to help him. But that is not my concern. The matter of his home life is far beyond the scope of schoolchildren. All I can tell you is that the matter is being looked into.”

Alicia opened her mouth to argue, but McGonagall cut her off.

“Miss Spinnet, I understand that you want to help, but there is nothing you can do,” McGonagall said, her tone gentle. She removed her glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief from her desk drawer. Perching them back on her nose, she said, “You are also only a child. All I can ask is that you continue being his friend. He will need many of those in the days ahead. You and the team have been good for him. I have seen it, and so has Professor Flitwick.”

Alicia frowned but nodded. McGonagall smiled, which was a rare enough sight that Alicia was momentarily drawn out of her moping.

“I understand how it is to feel helpless, like you cannot affect the course of events and can only watch as a bystander,” said the professor. “But you must remember that this is not your burden to carry. It is we adults who failed Harry Potter, and it is we who must carry the burden of ensuring his continued safety. Please, understand that what Potter needs the most from you is a friend — not a protector or guardian. A friend.”

“So you want me to do nothing?” Alicia asked harshly, feeling the anger well up enough to ignore the possible consequences of snapping at a professor.

“Not nothing,” McGonagall said shortly. “You, along with Bell, Johnson, Wood, and Messrs Weasley — all of you give Potter something to aspire to. The team gives him a place where he can taste greatness and friendship, a place where he belongs.”

“The Quidditch team has had Potter’s back from the very beginning, and he will need you to continue to do so.” McGonagall’s lip twitched. “You seven have grown into something greater than mere teammates. Your friendship is a greater contributor to his wellbeing than you realise. I am very proud of the character that the seven of you have shown in the face of conflict.”

“Whether it was the one-hundred-and-fifty points or the Quirrell fiasco, you rallied around Potter instead of abandoning him. In doing so, you have shown the mettle and chivalry that are synonymous with our house. Continue standing by his side, and you will provide him the strength he needs to prosper despite his hardships.” McGonagall steepled her palms on the table and heaved a deep sigh. “Please, trust us adults to take care of the rest. I promise you that each of us has only Potter’s best interests at heart, and we are doing everything we can to ensure his well-being. I know we have failed him in the past, but give us a chance to rectify our mistakes.”

Alicia gaped at the professor. “Professor, I don’t know what to say. I…”

“— Don’t know how to react when a professor shows emotion?”

Alicia nodded dumbly. McGonagall laughed. Alicia’s jaw dropped to the floor.

“You would do well to remember that your teachers are also human,” McGonagall said dryly. “It is my responsibility, as your head of house, to look out for your welfare. I failed in that task when I let an entire year pass by without realising something was wrong with Potter. Myself, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Dumbledore intend to rectify that error, and I only ask that you allow us to do so.”

Alicia nodded. “I understand. But if I can do anything to help —”

“— Then I will ask you,” McGonagall said reassuringly. Alicia swallowed thickly. Before either teacher or student could say another word, a glowing ball of light entered the office. Madam Pomfrey’s voice echoed across the walls.

“Minerva, I have completed healing Potter. My assistant and I are keeping an eye on his condition, but I am optimistic that he will wake in the next few days. Perhaps by Wednesday? Regardless, he will not be allowed visitors until he wakes. I’m keeping him in a magic-void environment until then.”

The ball fizzled out as Alicia watched in amazement. A million emotions and thoughts swarmed Alicia’s brain. She felt a touch of relief that Harry was fully healed, though she was a little frustrated that she couldn’t see him yet. She had many questions that she wanted to ask, but didn’t know where to start.

A surprised Alicia said, “I didn't know Madam Pomfrey had an assistant.”

McGonagall looked equally confused. “Neither did I.”

On the other side of the castle, in an abandoned classroom in the dungeons, George Weasley and his twin brother Fred plotted their most insane prank yet.

“Just checking: the acromantula webbing is ready?” Fred asked. George rolled his eyes and checked the pewter box on the table in the back.

“It’s been drawn and stretched,” George said coolly. “Don’t worry, they’ll hang.”

Fred grinned feral. “Good.”

“Are we sure this isn’t too much?” George asked worriedly. “We already beat them, Greddie. This is kicking them when they’re down.”

“They called Hermione the m-word. They tried their damnedest to knock Katie off her broom, and would’ve succeeded if we hadn’t stepped in,” Fred growled. “And because we had to keep Katie safe, we couldn’t help Harry. They’ve got to pay.”

George paused. “Fred, Harry getting hurt wasn’t anyone’s fault. He told us to let him handle it.”

“We should’ve been there, George!” Fred yelled, knocking over a chair in his rage. “It’s our job. We keep the bludgers away from our teammates. They trust us to keep them safe, and we failed them today. And it’s all those slimy snakes’ faults.”

George was worried. Ever since Harry’s accident this morning, Fred had become increasingly angry. The twins and Harry had planned a prank to get back at Malfoy and the Slytherins for calling Hermione a mudblood. After the accident, Fred had modified the prank to be far more extreme.

“It’s not the Slytherins that you’re angry at, is it?” George asked shortly. Contrary to popular belief, he and his brother weren’t the same person. While they presented a united front to the world, they still had their differences and their arguments.

Fred was angry. He tended to lash out when he was angry. George was concerned that his twin would do something they would both come to regret.

“You just don’t get it.” Fred glared at his brother before fiddling with a vial of goopy brown liquid. “Harry would understand. I just wish he could see this.”

George severely doubted that. But he understood the sentiment.

Sighing, he said, “We can get pictures with a camera. Show him when he wakes up.”

“Where are we getting cameras?”

“I know a bloke.”

Near midnight in the common room, George dropped into an armchair opposite his sister, Ginny. In his distracted state, he didn't notice how pale she was or how she rocked back and forth in her seat.

“What do you want?” She asked in place of a greeting, tucking a little black book into her robes.

“Hello to you, too,” he replied cheerily.

“Where’s Fred?” She asked with narrowed eyes, wiping a bead of sweat off her forehead.

“Right here!” He said dramatically. “You don’t recognise your own brother?”

“Sure,” she drawled, rolling the vowel. “Alright then, where’s your ‘other twin?’”

She made air quotes, and he grinned. “He’s out and about.”

“What’s that mean?”

He smiled sagely. She groaned and threw up her hands in annoyance.

“What do you want?” She repeated.

“Where’s your friend? The one with the camera?”

“Colin?” She raised an eyebrow. “What do you want with him?”

“That’s his name? Nice. Where is he?”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” she said, her face scrunched up in annoyance.

“Well, that’s between us boys,” Fred said brightly, and Ginny made an expression of disgust. “I promise I won’t prank him.”

Ginny frowned. “And he won’t get in trouble?”

“I assume he isn’t in the tower?” George evaded the question from years of experience with his mother. “It’s after curfew, so if he’s snuck out, then I’ll go and make sure he gets back. Not a hair on his head. Promise.”

Ginny sighed. “He went down to the kitchens. He said he was going to get some food and go see Harry.”

“At midnight? Is he loopy?”

She shrugged. “He isn’t loopy, just… excitable.”

“Whatever you say, darling sister,” he said, standing up and going to the portrait hole. “See you later.” 

True to Ginny’s word, George found Colin Creevey in the kitchens, holding a bunch of grapes. Convincing the first year to let him borrow his camera was an easy enough endeavour, though George had to promise to deliver the grapes to Harry before Colin agreed to return to the common room.

With Colin’s camera in hand, George returned to his and Fred’s classroom. His twin was bent over a cauldron, from which rose grey fumes that smelled like the colour puce. George scrunched up his nose as he dropped the camera on a table.

“Oh, you’re back,” said Fred, still hovering around his cauldron. “I had an idea while you were gone.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

Fred stepped away from the cauldron. “D’you remember last year we accidentally added alihotsy leaves to the shrinking solution, and it made your hair fall out.”

George’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like where this was headed. He nodded reluctantly. “I remember.”

“What if the solution just happened to fall on the Slytherins?” Fred grinned mischievously. George frowned.

“We don’t have time to test the solution on ourselves,” George pointed out. Fred waved him off.

“Bah, who cares. We’ve done it before, and it worked then, didn’t it?”

“What do you mean, who cares? Of course, we’re not going to use an untested potion on someone else!”

“It’s just the Slytherins,” Fred said dismissively. George gawked at his callousness. “They deserve whatever comes their way.”

“They’re bigots, but they don’t deserve this,” George argued. Fred wasn’t listening. George grabbed his twin by the shoulder and pulled him face to face. “We’re not doing this. Are you even listening?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Fred spat. “Have you lost your nerve? You and I came up with this plan together !”

“That was before you added an untested potion into the mix,” George carded his hands through his hair. “Merlin, Fred, this is bonkers. This is too far. This isn’t funny any more; just cruel.”

“Too far? Harry is comatose in the hospital wing because of those buggers,” Fred snarled. “This isn’t far enough, if you ask me.”

“Thank Merlin’s lucky underpants that no one is asking you, then,” George snapped. “Come off it, Freddie. Harry’s injury wasn’t their fault. They could get seriously hurt.”

Fred remained stubbornly silent. George wanted to throw the cauldron through the window. He had a feeling deep in his gut that something was going to go terribly, terribly wrong.

Shaking his head, he scooped the bunch of grapes off the table and made for the door, not bothering to explain to his irrational twin where he was going.

With nothing but a bunch of grapes and his wand, an irate George snuck down the corridors between him and the Hospital Wing. He stuck to the windowed hallways, using the reflections to check for prefects as he approached the bends.

Sneaking past a patrolling prefect with practised ease, he reached the third floor when he heard a shuffling noise ahead. He swore before tucking behind a suit of armour. One peek at the frosted window found the corridor to be empty.

“Probably a loose owl,” he grumbled as he stepped into the corridor. He paused tentatively, ready to bolt if he saw the glint of a lit wand. Nothing. He continued his walk until there were only a few corridors between him and the Hospital Wing.

“You better like grapes, Harry,” he mumbled, annoyed. A scraping sound caught his attention. He swore and hid inside a broom closet. He looked into the reflection of the hallway ahead. Nothing again. He exited the closet and heard the rustling again. This time louder and behind him.

Turning around, he glanced in the window and saw bright yellow eyes. He never got to complete his turn as he collapsed to the floor, a frozen statue still clutching a bunch of ripe, purple grapes.

The next morning, the atmosphere of the Great Hall was decidedly nervous. The professors spoke in hushed tones, sharing anxious glances and fearful words. The students, watching these exchanges, dreaded the bad news that was sure to come.

At the Gryffindor Table, Fred Weasley sat alone, the empty seat to his right so anomalous that his housemates steered clear of him. After all, if one Weasley twin was alone, it was usually because the other was up to some epic mischief. An air of anticipation buzzed about the Gryffindor Table as its constituents wondered what entertainment would accompany their fantastic Hogwarts fare.

Very few noticed the sickly pallor and dark circles under Fred’s eyes. Angelina and Alicia sat across from the lone Weasley twin.

“Where’s George?” Asked Alicia with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t know,” Fred croaked, sounding distraught. Alicia’s brow raised.

“Did you see him in the tower?” Angelina asked. Fred shook his head.

The two chasers exchanged a worried look.

“Mister Weasley, please follow me.” McGonagall’s stern facade was shaken, and she gave Fred a sympathetic glance. The redhead stood with shaking hands and followed the professors out of the hall. A wave of whispers followed him to the door.

With George out of the Great Hall, Dumbledore stood at the head table. He surveyed his students with a grim countenance that looked out of place on the usually jovial headmaster.

“I regret to inform you that a student has been petrified. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened once more.”

The hall was dead silent. Then, a storm of startled cries erupted from the Slytherin table as every green-clad student was completely covered in thick mud. Seven forms — the Quidditch team — rose out of the muck, suspended in the air by their ankles. Thin strands of silken webbing strung the boys up in the air, dangling them dangerously over their tables.

An array of fireworks lit up the sky, creating the words, “ The Chamber of Mud has been reopened. Bigots with No Hair, beware .”

The Great Hall erupted in a cacophony of laughter as the Quidditch players struggled to break free of the impossibly durable acromantula silk. The prank was off to a flawless start, yet none of the perpetrators were in any position to reap the spoils of their victory.

Then, everything went haywire. Swinging from the sole of his shoe, Marcus Flint managed to pull his wand out of his robes. The troll-like captain blindly cast spells of increasing severity at the connecting strand.

Flint cast Incendio and nearly burned Malfoy’s pants off, stopping only when he heard the seeker’s screams of agony. The untested potion and the fire caused a reaction that had ugly yellow blisters popping up along Malfoy’s face and head.

A Relashio, from the Slytherin captain, sent Bole swinging wildly into the wall, where a falling torch knocked him unconscious. A cutting curse finally found its mark on Flint’s strand, sending the sixth-year brute flailing to the ground.

“ Arrestor Mementum! ” Flint bellowed, but in his panic, butchered the pronunciation. Nothing happened, and Flint continued to fall. He hit the ground with a sickening crunch, letting out a weak moan before passing out from the pain.

Katie Bell was having an awful day.

She woke on Sunday morning after a restless night. Nightmares of her friends lying crumpled on the Quidditch Pitch — their blood shining crimson against the green grass — plagued her sleep.

She hadn’t the energy nor the appetite for breakfast, so she’d showered and made a beeline for the Hospital Wing. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey would have something for her to do that would take her mind off. Plus, she thought seeing Harry—whose condition Madam Pomfrey had previously pronounced as stable—would ease her mind.

She’d been wrong.

She slipped between the large oak doors that served as the entrance to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey, who was bustling about an occupied bed, smiled at her.

“Remember, Katie, no magic behind Potter’s curtains.”

Katie nodded. “New patient?”

The smile washed off the matron’s face. Katie felt her heart beat faster. “Who is it this time?”

“It’s best that you see for yourself,” said Pomfrey, gently guiding Katie to the bed. “I know he’s your teammate.”

Katie stifled a gasp when she saw George Weasley lying on the bed. The redhead appeared twisted in midair, his eyes wide and his mouth parted in an expression of terror.

“What—what happened?” Katie stammered. Her legs wobbled, and she clutched at the bedpost for support.

“It seems the culprit who petrified Mrs. Norris has struck again,” Madam Pomfrey said grimly. “Professor Dumbledore plans to announce at breakfast that the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been reopened.”

Katie stared blankly at the matron, who patted her shoulder consolingly.

“He’ll be fine, right?” Katie croaked out. Madam Pomfrey nodded.

“Of course,” she said. “Professor Sprout is currently growing a batch of mandrakes. Professor Snape will whip us up some Restorative Draught, and we’ll have our petrified students as right as rain by the end of next term.”

“By the end of next term?” Katie repeated, aghast. “He’s going to be like this for the rest of the school year?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Matured mandragoras are difficult to maintain, so they tend to be on the rarer side,” Madam Pomfrey said regretfully. Then her expression darkened. “And if there are more petrifications, it is simply more efficient to grow our own supply.”

“Let’s hope there aren’t any more, then.”

“Let’s,” Pomfrey agreed, though she didn’t look to hold confidence in her own words.

Katie squeezed George’s outstretched hand, though she felt like she was squeezing stone. She peered curiously at the bunch of grapes in the bowl by his bedside. She raised an eyebrow.

“Where was he found?”

“One corridor over,” Pomfrey pursed her lips, pulling a blanket up to George’s chest. “It appears that he was trying to visit Potter — bring him some grapes.”

Katie shook her head exasperatedly. “Of course. Does Fred know?”

“All the Weasleys will be informed at breakfast,” explained Pomfrey. She placed a hand on Katie’s. “I will understand if you would like to get some rest. It has been a difficult two days for you.”

She pondered her options and shook her head. “I think I’ll stay and help, if you don’t mind. I’d rather be useful than sad.”

Pomfrey nodded. “As you wish. This job can be a lot, even for someone as experienced as I. There is no shame in feeling overwhelmed.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey, but I’m fine.”

They were interrupted by a BANG as the doors slammed open. Professor McGonagall led a contingent of gingers to George’s bed. At her beckon, Katie followed Madam Pomfrey into her office to allow the Weasleys some privacy.

Pomfrey sat at her desk and pulled a stack of parchment toward herself. She gave Katie a look that plainly said, “Do you see what I deal with?” before parsing the first form. Katie fiddled with the hem of her robes as she looked around the office.

“MADAM POMFREY?” A voice called from the main wing. With a tired sigh, the matron pushed back her chair and approached the door. She beckoned Katie to follow.

The teacher and the student went into the main wing to find the Hospital Wing more crowded than it had been all year. The Weasleys crowded around George’s bed, though they kept glancing across the hall at Harry’s curtained-off section. Professors McGonagall and Snape stood awkwardly by Pomfrey’s office. Three beds — chosen specifically to be the farthest from the redheaded contingent — were populated by three Slytherins.

Katie just barely recognised them as Derrick Bole, Marcus Flint, and Draco Malfoy. The difficulty came from recognising Malfoy without his signature blond hair, for the three Slytherins were all bald .

She stifled a laugh at the pitiful sight, and Pomfrey gave her a disapproving look. Katie quickly sobered, just in time for the professors to approach.

“What in Merlin’s name happened?” Pomfrey asked, glancing at the bedridden Slytherins. Bole was unconscious, and Flint’s arm was twisted at an odd angle. And Malfoy — Malfoy’s legs were both littered with burns, his left hand was blistered, and his head was covered with nasty, yellow pustules.

“Prank gone wrong,” McGonagall grimaced. Snape only sneered in Fred’s direction, who was staring at the Slytherins in shock. Katie thought Fred looked terrible. The wayward twin clearly hadn’t slept and was deathly pale, looking at the Slytherins who were victims of what she guessed was his prank.

“Bole and Flint fell from a height, and Malfoy was hit with Incendio . It seems to have had an unpredictable reaction with the botched shrinking solution used to shed his hair,” explained Snape. The professor’s lip curled in an apoplectic sneer. He seemed to be handily ignoring Katie’s existence, as well as the presence of the entire Weasley contingent. Katie was perfectly content to let that lie.

It didn’t escape her notice that the three Slytherins were all on the Quidditch Team. This was the infamous retribution prank that the twins and Harry had been planning on behalf of Hermione. If nothing else, she was glad that Harry was unconscious for the aftermath. She knew he would feel terrible that someone got so badly hurt because of him, even if it were only Malfoy.

“What are you doing here, Bell?” McGonagall asked. Katie shuffled nervously, and the professor had a look of realisation. “Oh, this is the assistant you spoke of, Madam Pomfrey? The second coming of Isidora, I see.”

McGonagall smiled fondly, and Katie gawked.

“Indeed, she is every bit her mother,” Pomfrey said proudly, and Katie averted her gaze as she felt her cheeks burn.

“I’ve just been rearranging potions,” Katie mumbled shyly.

“And for that I am grateful,” said Pomfrey. “But come, we must see to our new patients. Minerva, Severus, if you could escort out the visitors, please?”

The professors swept away with the Weasleys in tow, leaving just Katie, Pomfrey, and the three bedridden Slytherins.

“I will check Bole and Pucey for broken bones and blunt force trauma — that’s when you get hit really hard without breaking the skin — and you prepare the bandages and burn salve for Malfoy. Just like I taught you yesterday.”

Katie nodded absently, and Pomfrey got to work without another word. The youngest Gryffindor Chaser stood in the middle of the Hospital Wing, watching Malfoy’s scrunched-up face. The boy was lost in his pain and didn’t even realise Katie was in the room with him.

A part of her relished his pain. Didn’t he deserve it for what he said to Hermione? For calling her that terrible word? Didn’t Flint deserve his pain for nearly sending Katie flying off her broom? Wouldn’t she have been hurt far worse?

Why did they deserve to be healed when George, who was worth ten of them, would be petrified until the end of Spring?

Malfoy whimpered from his bed, and her intrusive thought dissipated. She felt no hatred for Malfoy; only pity. She shook her head and ran to the potions rack.

“Burn salve, where did I put you?” She murmured as she gathered bandages in her arms.

She would help heal the boys who had done nothing but ridicule her, and she would do so without prejudice. And in doing so, she would rest easy knowing that she was a better person than they would ever be.

Chapter Text

“Water…”

Katie jumped in her seat. She’d been reading through her potions essay in the Hospital Wing when she heard the voice. It was dry and scratchy, yet she knew exactly who it belonged to. 

She nearly ran to the curtained bed on the other side of the wing. She pulled the curtains aside enthusiastically. “Harry!”

He winced. “Too loud.”

”Sorry,” she said sheepishly. And quietly, this time.

He blinked once, then twice. “Katie?” He asked, squinting at her. She plucked his glasses off his bedside table and slid them onto his nose. 

“Hi,” he croaked. “Water, please.” 

She poured a glass from a nearby pitcher and held it to his lips. He drank greedily until she tipped the cup a little too fast and waterboarded him.

“Sorry!” She squeaked, receiving a glare whose effect was ruined by his hacking coughs. Still supporting his head with one hand, she pressed the rune on the side of the end table that would summon Madam Pomfrey. Sure enough, she heard shuffling from the direction of the nurse’s office. 

”Welcome back to the realm of the living, Mister Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said, drawing back the remaining curtains. Harry grunted in response, rubbing his chest. “Katie, did you nearly drown our patient?”

“Just a little,” she admitted. Pomfrey waved her wand, and Harry stopped coughing. 

“I’m alright,” he announced, his voice less raspy.

Madam Pomfrey drew her wand. “Katie, dear, if you could step aside so I may run some diagnostic charms.”

Moving to stand behind the matron, Katie asked, “I thought we couldn’t use magic on Harry.” 

“That was only because his head injuries hadn’t healed yet,” Pomfrey explained patiently before nonverbally casting a charm. A spiderweb of runes appeared over her friend. She felt a burst of pride when she recognised many of them, though not enough to understand what the hologram was saying.

Madam Pomfrey hummed approvingly. “All good. To answer your question: Mister Potter waking is enough indicator that his brain is healthy again.”

She gave the second year a withering look. “At least, as healthy as a Quidditch Player can get. What possesses you to play that infernal game is beyond me.”

“Hey, I play Quidditch too!” Katie argued. Pomfrey only gave her a pitying look.

“Remind me to do a brain scan for you one of these days, child.”

Harry snickered, and Pomfrey turned her ire back on him. “Don’t get me started on you. Ignoring that bludger. Such an irresponsible play, I have never seen.”

He wilted under her stare, and it was Katie’s turn to laugh. “Don’t worry, Madam Pomfrey. Once Alicia gets here, Harry is in for the dressing-down of a lifetime. She’s been building up steam for a week straight.”

Harry blanched at the thought. “I’ve been out for a week?”

Katie nodded grimly. “Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t allow you any visitors in case they accidentally used magic around you.”

“Why… Never mind,” Harry shook his head. “Wait, if I’m not allowed visitors, what are you doing here?”

“I’m not a visitor,” Katie said cryptically, with just a tinge of dramatic flair. Harry’s brow furrowed, and Pomfrey shook her head exasperatedly.

“Katie, here, is my assistant. An apprentice, if you will.”

“Your assistant?” Harry’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, and he looked at his friend. “Merlin, what happened when I was out?”

Katie patted Harry on the shoulder solemnly. “Hedwig ate Scabbers.”

“ WHAT? ” Harry exclaimed. Katie’s poker face didn’t last more than a half-second before she burst into laughter.

“Please do not stress out my patients the second they leave a coma,” Pomfrey chided. Katie didn't look remorseful at all, but fell silent nonetheless. Harry stared at Pomfrey with new respect.

“You’ve managed to shut her up. I didn't know that was possible,” he blurted before covering his mouth. Pomfrey’s lip twitched, and Katie felt blood rush to her cheeks.

“Erm,” Harry scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “So, when can I leave?”

“By dinner tomorrow night,” Pomfrey said, eliciting a groan from the boy. “After your shenanigans, you best be glad I’m not keeping you here for another week!”

To Katie’s delight, Harry looked sufficiently cowed.

“And Katie,” said Pomfrey. Katie looked at her mentor inquisitively. “Do inform Professor McGonagall that Mister Potter is awake — I believe he has some friends to answer to.”

Harry blanched, and Katie split into a Cheshire Cat grin.

Later that evening, Katie watched the spectacle unfold from her perch on the bed opposite Harry’s. She’d found McGonagall in her office before nearly sprinting back to the Hospital Wing. She’d be damned if she was going to miss the utter chaos that would unfold any minute now.

“HARRY JAMES POTTER.”

Katie watched in surprise as Hermione Granger, followed closely by Ron Weasley, stormed into the wing. Darn. She’d thought Alicia would get there first.

“What were you THINKING, not forfeiting that match even though the bludger was clearly jinxed?” Hermione began her tirade, and Katie tuned her out, instead opting to watch the blood slowly drain out of Harry’s face. “First the jinxed broom, then nearly choking on the snitch, and now this! Do you have a death wish?”

Harry just shook his head meekly. Katie so desperately wished he had misheard the question and nodded. Alas, the bludger hadn’t scrambled his cognitive functions that much.

“But I’m glad you’re alright, Harry. We were all so worried,” Hermione finished, pulling Harry into a quick hug. Harry’s split second of hesitation before he hugged her back didn’t escape Katie’s notice.

“Sorry I worried you,” Harry mumbled into her bushy hair.

“All right, there, Harry?” Ron asked after Hermione pulled away.

“All right, Ron. You?” Came the reply as the best mates shook hands. Katie shook her head. Boys .

Hermione promptly began telling Harry about all the classes he’d missed. The two boys shared an exasperated look, but were intelligent enough to remain silent.

Then, the front door slammed open, and Madam Pomfrey stuck her head out of her office.

“Miss Spinnet, I must insist that you be more gentle with my door!”

“Sorry,” came the sheepish response. Harry’s head snapped to the door just as Alicia found him. She quickly walked over and embraced him. It was fast and smooth, and Katie admitted she felt a little jealous. Harry had never been as comfortable with her touch. Though it was some consolation that Alicia seemed to be the exception and not the rule, if Harry’s reaction to Hermione was any indicator.

Then again, Alicia and Harry were more family than they were friends. In the right lighting, Alicia's black hair and narrow face even gave her and Harry the beginnings of a familial resemblance.

Alicia finally released him, and Katie noticed her cheeks were slick with tears.

“You listen, and you listen good,” Alicia said, her tone barely above a growl. Harry blanched, and even Katie felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise.

“I don't care what your reason was, but if you pull something like that again…”

Alicia gulped and wiped the tears on her cheeks. Katie stopped herself from going to her best friend. It wasn't her reassurance that Alicia needed.

“I thought you died…” Alicia's voice was barely more than a whisper. Once more, she wrapped him in an embrace and squeezed him tight. He returned the gesture vigorously. 

Katie returned to her potions essay; she reckoned the two siblings would like a moment to themselves.

She dotted an ‘i’ for the fourth time, blotting the page. With a grimace, she dabbed at the stained area with a handy rag. She peeked up at the reunion. Alicia was sitting at the foot of Harry’s bed, while Ron and Hermione had commandeered the nearest chairs. Katie left her makeshift homework station and joined her friends.

“Done with the death threats, Alicia?” She chirped, dropping onto Harry’s bed next to her best friend. Harry yelped as she nearly sat on his leg. She rolled her eyes and swatted his knee. “Your leg’s been long since healed, Potter. Don’t be such a baby.”

Harry made a rude gesture. “You’re just too heavy for my leg to handle.”

“Oi!” she swatted his leg again, and he grinned unrepentantly. “That’s out of line, Green Lightning.”

“My sincerest apologies, Katie-kat,” he said with the most insincere expression. She rolled her eyes and turned to Alicia.

“Where’s Angelina?”

Alicia shrugged helplessly, which Katie found odd. Those two were usually attached at the hip, and recently, there seemed to be an unspoken tension between the two. Though there wasn’t any hostility, Katie had noticed that Angelina didn’t talk as much around Alicia any more. For her part, Alicia had been too absorbed with Harry’s injury to pay her best friend any notice.

Katie hoped this wasn’t to do with the secret that Alicia was keeping from her and Angelina. Angelina had seemed to be over it at her birthday party, but perhaps that was merely a front…

She shook her head; this wasn’t her battle. There was no use speculating on a problem that may not exist.

The door creaked open, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Speak of the devil, and she shall appear,” said Katie, waving Angelina over. The third chaser jogged over to the small crowd around Harry’s bed.

“Finally awake, Speccy?”

“I was having a great nap, now I’m being told I’ve got potions tomorrow.”

Angelina gave him a look of mock sympathy. “You poor thing. Want me to get the twins’ bats and put you back to sleep?”

“No, thanks,” Harry grinned. “If I miss another practice, I think Oliver would kill me.”

Katie and the other chasers shared a look. Alicia cleared her throat.

“Harry, you haven’t missed any practices,” she said hesitantly.

“It’s been a week,” Harry pointed out obliviously. “You’d think Oliver would’ve held at least one practice since then.”

“Well, none of us have been feeling practice, what with you injured and all…” Alicia trailed off. Katie scoffed.

“Alicia, stop babying him,” she said. She understood hating to be the bearer of bad news, but Alicia’s infantilisation of Harry was getting annoying. “Harry — the reason we haven’t had practice is that we were missing half our bloody players.”

“Half our players?” Harry asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I know I was hospitalised, but surely you can manage without a seeker for one practice?”

“One seeker is manageable,” Angelina said dully. “But try missing one seeker and both your beaters. Oh, and we haven’t heard from the captain since the last match, either.”

“Merlin.” Harry grimaced. “What did the twins do this time?”

“One of their pranks went awry, and Fred’s been in detention all week. And George…” Katie sighed and gestured to the bed two over from Harry’s. Harry craned his neck around Ron and Hermione, and from his sharp intake of breath, Katie knew Harry had seen him.

“What — what happened?” He asked breathlessly.

“Remember Mrs. Norris’ petrification?” Katie asked pointlessly. Of course, he remembered. It was only the primary fuel for the Hogwarts rumour mill for the entirety of November thus far, with Harry involved more than she knew he liked.

“Well, whoever did it also got George,” Katie said, trying to sound less bothered than she felt. She gave Ron a sympathetic smile. “So, none of us have been exactly rearing to return to the pitch.”

Harry’s eyes were wide, and Katie could almost hear the blood pounding at the base of his skull. 

“He’ll be alright, though?” The words barely escaped his lips, locked as they were in shock.

Katie hummed an affirmative. “End of Spring. Madam Pomfrey said so. Sprout’s got a batch of mandrakes that’ll be mature enough to harvest by then.”

“Is there any way we can get mandrakes earlier?” Harry asked, just barely settling his heart. “Surely someone is selling mandrake restorative draught.”

It was Hermione who responded. “Mandrakes are a restricted commodity. One can grow them with a licence, but they cannot be used in trade. That’s because mandrakes, while used primarily for mandrake restorative draught, have historically also been used for terrorism.”

“Terrorism?” Katie asked, bewildered. She tried not to laugh at the absurd image of fearsome, dark-robed individuals brandishing the ugly, wailing dirt-babies.

Hermione nodded solemnly. “A mature mandrake’s cry is lethal. There’s a reason why we’re only repotting them until the winter holidays. By February, their cries would be powerful enough to kill someone.”

“Imagine unpotting a grown mandrake in a crowded room,” Angelina said, horror dawning. Katie shuddered.

“So, buying mandrakes is out of the question,” Harry concluded, sufficiently convinced. The others nodded vehemently. “I’m making sure my earmuffs are nice and snug next time we go to Herbology.”

The poor attempt at humour felt as foreign to Katie's ears as she was sure they had in Harry's head.

“Well, you lot have fun with that,” Angelina said dryly. “I never thought I’d say this, but thank Morgana for bubotubers.”

Alicia snorted. “I'll remind you of that next time the pus gets all over your scarf.”

Angelina wrinkled her nose. “You're the worst.”

“Love you too,” Alicia said sweetly. Angelina made a sudden jerky movement.

The door swung open once more, making way for Professor McGonagall.

“Potter and company,” she greeted, nodding when her sharp gaze found his condition satisfactory.

“It is good to see you awake,” she said primly. The professor eyed Katie, who was still sitting on Harry's leg. “Miss Bell, may I ask why you're sitting on your patient?”

“There wasn't enough space, professor,” Katie explained as if it were obvious. She stifled a laugh. “Besides, he got bonked in the head — his legs are just fine.”

A muffled snort behind her told her that Harry found her joke as funny as she did. Beside her, Hermione huffed, and Katie’s grin only stretched wider.

McGonagall shook her head exasperatedly. “I shall let Madam Pomfrey enforce the rules of her hospital. In the meantime, I came to speak with Miss Johnson.”

Angelina perked up. “Yes, professor?”

McGonagall looked critically at the rest of the team surrounding Angelina, and Katie felt a feeling of foreboding settle in her gut.

“I suppose you will be informed anyway,” the professor intoned, more to herself than anything. “I regret to inform you that Oliver Wood has resigned from the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.”

The silence that filled the hospital wing was so potent, so unforgivingly absolute, that Katie felt her heartbeat in her throat like a beating drum in her ears. 

“I'm sorry, professor, but I must have misheard you.” It was Hermione who spoke. In the back of her mind, Katie supposed the others were still in shock. 

“I thought I heard you say that Oliver Wood quit Quidditch.”

“You heard correctly, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said gravely, her lips pressed so thin that they nearly vanished from existence.

Behind her, Harry sucked in a mouthful of air.

“Why?” Angelina's voice rose at the end. “What happened?”

“I do not know,” McGonagall said shortly. “He came to my office this morning and turned in his badge. I intended to speak with you at breakfast, Johnson, but I didn’t want to steal Potter’s thunder.”

“Why me in particular?” Angelina asked confusedly. McGonagall pulled out of her robes a chunk of gold and handed it to Angelina, who abruptly stopped breathing. Katie craned her neck to peer over the taller girl’s shoulder and gasped at the Gryffindor Quidditch captain’s badge.

“Wood suggested, and I agree, that you replace him,” McGonagall spoke steadily, yet her eyes crinkled at the corners, belying her sympathy. “The captaincy is yours.”

“I—No!” Angelina dropped the badge back into McGonagall’s palm and took a sudden step backwards. She stumbled into Hermione, who squeaked as her foot was crushed. Angelina muttered an apology, her gaze still fixed on the gleaming gold trinket. “It belongs to Oliver — I can’t take it. It’s not right.”

“Miss Johnson. The team cannot function without a captain. You are simply the best option,” McGonagall said gently, taking Angelina’s hand and pressing the badge into it. “I understand your sentiment, but you are the vice-captain. Unless and until he comes back, the responsibility falls on your shoulders, regardless of whether you take this badge.”

McGonagall enclosed Angelina’s fingers around the badge, and the chaser’s shoulders slumped, but she didn’t shrink away again.

As Katie watched the byplay, her attention was drawn to the scene beside her. Alicia sat on the bed, watching the byplay with the same sadness that Katie, too, shared. What she found peculiar was that Alicia was still sitting. Once upon a time, Alicia would have been by Angelina’s side in an instant. Watching the invisible barrier between her best friends, Katie’s suspicions about their fracturing friendship were proven before her very eyes.

Her gaze travelled past Alicia, onto Harry. He, too, watched the exchange with the same trepidation that Katie felt. They made eye contact, and she knew that his thoughts mirrored hers.

What happened between Alicia and Angelina?

Harry Potter was perfectly proud to say that he was entirely unnerved as he stared down Draco Malfoy across the duelling stage. The Slytherin across the aisle gave him a withering look, and Harry returned a devious smile that George had helped him perfect. Malfoy shivered despite himself, and Harry resisted the urge to jump at him and yell ‘Boo!’

Earlier that week, Harry and his friends had seen the flyer for the duelling club and had been excited. That excitement had been dampened when he, Ron, and Hermione had arrived at the Great Hall and found Lockhart smiling down at them. It had been rekindled when he had been called to perform a demonstration against Malfoy. The blond ponce of Slytherin had been insufferable after Harry had beaten him at their match. He had even taken to wearing a bandage around his ear and pretending to get bowled over by a bludger whenever Harry walked past.

Suffice to say, Harry was more than looking forward to the opportunity to knock him down a peg or two.

“Assume duelling positions,” Lockhart said, beaming down at Harry and Malfoy, who returned distasteful looks. If there was one thing the two could agree on, it was a mutual hatred of their fraudulent professor.

Fraudulent truly was an apt word to describe Lockhart, as he showed Harry a complicated wand motion that ended with him dropping his wand. Harry gaped at what was supposedly the recipe for a shield charm.

Glaring into the back of the professor’s head, Harry assumed the stance that Flitwick had taught him: one foot in front of the other, spread around waist length; his wand arm held loosely in front, ready to snap off a spell or a shield in an instant; and his free arm extended to the side as a stabilising force.

Harry’s gaze fell on his opponent, who stood in the same rudimentary stance as he. So, Malfoy knew what he was doing. It seemed the boy would be a halfway decent opponent. Snape stood beside Malfoy, staring at a point just over Harry’s shoulder.

“On go, then?” Lockhart asked the two second-years. Not awaiting a response, he continued. “Remember, disarm only. Three, two, one, —”

Malfoy’s wand whipped toward Harry. “ Aculeo !”

The stinging hex hit Harry in the shoulder, and he gritted his teeth as his vision blurred from the pain.

“Playing dirty, Malfoy?” Harry yelled across the stage as he rubbed the sore spot. “I suppose you were never taught the little things like manners and sportsmanship.”

He whipped his wand around and yelled. “ Flipendo! ”

Malfoy just barely dodged in time, and Harry groaned in displeasure.

“I have more manners in my little finger than whatever you learned from those filthy muggles!” The Slytherin snapped off another retaliatory jinx, and Harry dove to dodge. After practising against Flitwick, Harry had thought someone like Malfoy would be child’s play to him. But it appeared that Flitwick had been taking it incredibly lightly with Harry, and Malfoy had also received some kind of training.

One solace that Harry had was that his spell repertoire seemed to be superior to Malfoy's, who had hardly used more than the stinging hex.

He swung to the right, dodging another stinging hex. After the first cheap shot, Malfoy hadn’t landed another hit. But to be fair, neither had Harry. Coming out of his dodge, Harry flicked his wand to the side, casting what was quickly becoming his favourite spell.

“ Expelliarmus! ” The spell soared through the air and hit Malfoy right on the nose. The boy’s head jerked back, right as his wand slipped out of his fingers and straight into the air.

Harry grinned and dropped from his stance. He looked into the crowd at Ron and Hermione, who were cheering at the top of their lungs. Katie, Alicia, and Angelina were also cheering, but suddenly their eyes went wide, and Alicia pointed at Malfoy.

Harry turned back just in time to see his rival seeker pluck the wand out of the air. He slashed downward, his glowing wand tip leaving a red arc behind it. “ Diffindo! ”

With an instinctual flick of the wand, Harry narrowed his eyes and yelled the first spell that came to mind. “ Protego! ”

A shimmering, translucent dome appeared in front of Harry, and the cutting curse splashed harmlessly against it. Malfoy sneered at Harry’s spell.

“Showing off, are we, Potter?” He twisted his wrist in a complicated motion. “ Serpensortia! ”

Harry pushed more of his will into his shield, confident it would be enough to defend against whatever Malfoy threw at him next. His shoulder blades tensed as they prepared to absorb the force of the next spell, but were sorely disappointed when nothing came.

Instead, a large mass dropped to the floor with a resounding thud . In his surprise, Harry didn’t notice his mage sight activate as his vision was flooded with bright colours. For a moment, his senses were overwhelmed with the myriad of enchantments layered upon the Great Hall. But he quickly focused on the coiled-up serpent in the middle of the platform. Its scales glimmered with magic — an unsettling, sickly green and puce.

Harry nearly laughed aloud. Since Malfoy had conjured the snake, that must be his magic. Was that really what his magic looked like?

“ Where am I? ” Asked the writhing adder, its tone tinged with confusion and panic. Harry was ripped from his musing. “ Toooo hot. Ssssooo many fleshingsss. Food? ”

That last question was asked looking right at Justin Finch-Fletchley.

“ No! ” Harry exclaimed. The adder turned to Harry suddenly, and he held his wand in front of him, ready to escape the serpent’s maw. The snake looked at Justin again, then back at Harry.

“ No? ” It asked, almost confused-sounding.

“ No, ” Harry repeated, firmly this time. The snake’s forked tongue flitted about its lips. It cocked its head as it looked at Harry.

And then it disappeared.

A surprised Harry looked up to see Snape standing opposite him, wand extended and a curious glint in his usually cold, obsidian eyes.

Harry refused to meet his gaze, instead opting to ask Justin if he was all right. The words died in his mouth the moment he looked at his classmate. The boy’s face was drained of life, and he shuddered like a leaf in the wind.

“W-what do you think you’re playing at?” He half-squeaked, half-yelled. Harry blinked, and his vision returned to the dull monotony of the mundane world.

“What do you mean — I was trying to help.”

Harry’s words fell on deaf ears as Snape gripped his shoulder harder than strictly necessary.

“Dismissed.” Snape’s words weren’t especially loud but travelled through the dead silent hall with ease. The singular word rippled through the students, who flooded out the doors as one. When he realised the hall was empty save for him and Snape, Harry tried to follow his peers, but the Potions Professor tightened his grip. “Not you, Potter.”

Harry swallowed thickly. What the hell had happened? Why was everyone looking at him like he was the second coming of Voldemort?

“How long have you been able to speak Parseltongue?”

Harry blanched. He stammered. “W-what? What’s Parseltongue, I don’t —”

“Don’t lie to me, boy!” Snape snarled, his grip tightening on Harry’s shoulder. Harry flinched as Snape shook him. That seemed to knock the wind out of Snape’s sails. “Apologies.”

Harry’s jaw damn near hit the floor. The silence that followed was ripe with tension, like a house with a gas leak that could explode with the slightest spark.

“I don’t have all day, Potter,” Snape drawled, the derision in his tone so familiar that Harry almost thought he’d imagined the professor’s prior words.

“Uh — I first used it just before my eleventh birthday,” Harry admitted, staring defiantly at his least favourite professor. “I set a boa constrictor on my cousin.”

Snape arched an eyebrow. “Petunia’s son?”

Harry nodded, silently wondering how Snape knew his Aunt Petunia’s name. He felt a prickling sensation at the back of his mind, like the feeling one got when they knew they’d forgotten something but didn’t know what. The memory of Dudley’s terrified screaming as the snake slithered past him nearly brought a smile to his face. Snape’s lip curled before he gave the slightest of nods.

“Begone.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He scurried out of the Great Hall, where he found Ron, Hermione, Alicia, Angelina, and Katie waiting outside.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, frantically waving him over.

“Hi,” he said meekly, his heart thundering in his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell us you could speak to snakes?” Ron asked, and Harry winced.

“Oh, he didn’t tell us about his ability that’s considered evil in our society?” Katie drawled. “I wonder why…”

“Touché,” Alicia said with a small smile.

“You don’t care?” Harry asked, not daring to let hope leak into his voice.

“Harry, you’re harmless,” Katie said bluntly. Harry sputtered, not sure whether to be relieved at the vote of confidence or offended at the attack on his manhood. “No one who’s ever spoken to you would ever believe you opened the Chamber.”

“Wait a minute,” Harry interjected. “The Chamber? As in the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Ah,” Katie grimaced. “Anyone else want to take this one?”

“Harry,” Hermione said impatiently. “The Chamber of Secrets: Slytherin’s chamber —”

“And Slytherin was known for being able to speak to snakes,” Ron finished with a pitying look. 

“That's why the Slytherin house crest is a snake,” Angelina added grimly.

Harry frowned. “So, what — people think I opened the Chamber?”

Katie shrugged before counting off on her fingers. “You were caught at the scene of Mrs. Norris’ petrification, and you’re familiar with George’s hiding spots —”

“George is my friend !” Harry nearly yelled. Katie glared back at him.

“And I know that, don’t I?” She yelled back. “I’m not saying you did it; I’m just telling you what it’s going to look like! Besides, you were knocked out when George was petrified.”

Harry ran his hands through his hair. In his mind, every false accusation felt like coming home from primary school and being blamed for Dudley’s laundry list of deviancy.

Angelina raised her arms in a placating gesture and gave them a stern look. “Harry — Katie’s just trying to prepare you for what the others will say. Don’t shout at her for trying to help. And Katie — sometimes the cold reality isn’t what people want to hear. You could afford to be a little more gentle with your approach. Now, apologise and make up.”

“Sorry, Angelina,” they chorused, cowed. Angelina rolled her eyes.

“Not to me, you dunderheads. To each other!”

“Sorry, Harry.”

“It’s all right. I overreacted. Sorry, Katie.”

“‘S okay. I shouldn’t have brought that up so soon.”

Angelina beamed. “Now, was that so hard?” She clapped her hands. “Let’s go — I dunno; not the common room, I assume? Ooh, I know. I’m feeling a little peckish. Anyone in for a wee kitchen run?”

Without waiting for a response, Angelina strode away toward the kitchens, leaving a flabbergasted gaggle of students in her wake. Harry confusedly noted Alicia’s star-struck expression before following Angelina, the rest of their group close behind him.

The rest of the term was utter hell for Harry. Every corner he turned, he couldn’t seem to escape his peers’ terrified glances and whispers. They parted for him in every hallway. Every empty space in the Great Hall was quickly filled whenever he approached. Even in the library, whenever he neared an empty seat beside someone, a tall stack of books would occupy the space.

Harry’s frustration with his Ancient Magic lessons wasn’t helping matters either. He had reached a standstill in his progress, and Flamel seemed either incapable or unwilling to help him. The only advice he had received was the same question that rang in his head like an infinite echo.

Do you believe yourself to be worthy, Chosen?

It was a question for which he had no answer. Rather, he didn’t like the only answer that he could formulate. If he wasn’t worthy of the magic, then he was nothing more than a taint on his family legacy. He loathed to bring shame to the virtual strangers to whom he owed so much. His parents, who sacrificed their lives so that his would continue. He loathed to let them down, and each time the thought crossed his mind, the possibility threatened to drag him into a dark abyss from which he was unsure he could return.

Those frustrations and dark thoughts were also affecting him in other areas. Flitwick had remarked earlier that Harry was becoming too aggressive, to the point that he repeatedly failed to plan out his actions. At that moment, Harry hadn’t reacted well, storming out of the office, ‘ failure’ the only word resonating within his brain. He’d apologised later, but he was still ashamed of how he’d behaved in front of his favourite professor.

Midterms came and went, and despite his struggles, Harry thought he did quite well. Near-perfect recall was useful to make up for many of his academic shortcomings, he’d found. So much so that he managed to score the highest marks in their year in Charms and Transfigurations — the two classes he’d cared enough to put in work on. He’d performed well in Herbology and (surprisingly) Potions, though he’d refused to answer the pathetic questions that Lockhart asked. Sadly, Hermione hadn’t taken his high scores well.

“It’s unfair!” Hermione cried, slamming her book shut with a loud snap. Katie, who had fallen asleep in her arithmancy textbook, jumped and looked around, alarmed. Harry snickered at his teammate’s startled expression, warily eyeing Hermione out of the corner of his eye.

“Why do you get perfect memory, and I have to make study schedules, flashcards, and take notes all day?”

“Hermione, you do all those things even though you don't have to,” Harry pointed out. “You would do just fine even without the flashcards.”

Hermione huffed. “That isn't the point.”

Katie butted in. “Why don't you just teach Hermione Occlumency, Harry? It'll get her off your back, and I won't have to listen to her complaining.”

Harry thought about refusing, since the idea of having his own, unique abilities was still appealing to him. But Hermione was giving him a very convincing set of puppy eyes, and Harry was generally terrible at refusing his friends. 

“Fine…” he sighed, trying to hold in his laughter when she jumped in her seat, looking not too dissimilar to a puppy who'd received a treat. “I'll try to find you the book I learned from.”

“Oh, thank you, Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, grabbing Harry into a tight hug. He froze, his arms locked to his sides, barely remembering to awkwardly pat her back.

“So, it was never about fairness,” Katie smirked. “You were just mad that someone except you had the advantage.”

Hermione flushed but didn’t deign a response. Harry chuckled, only to blush himself when his stomach rumbled loudly.

Katie’s grin widened. “I suppose that’s enough homework for the day. I don’t know how you lot managed to get me into the library the week before the holidays, but we’re not spending another moment in this hell.”

Madam Pince walked out from behind a stack of neon green textbooks and gave Katie the evil eye. The chaser blanched, hurriedly shoving her belongings into her rucksack.

“Alright, let’s get out of here before Madam Pince knocks me out with a tome older than my entire bloodline.”

Harry laughed all the way to the entrance hall. Somewhere along the way, they picked up Ron, who was glowing after thoroughly trouncing Neville at chess. As they crossed the entrance hall, Harry glanced wistfully out the window, and Katie smiled wryly.

“You miss the pitch?” She asked redundantly. Harry nodded, his breath misting against the glass.

“Shame that Angelina suspended practice,” she said conversationally. “I ‘spose there’s not much you can do without beaters and a keeper.”

“Especially when that keeper was the captain writing up most of the game-plans,” Harry agreed, his eyes still on the wooden stadium outside.

“Why you insist on playing that infernal game even after you nearly died twice, I'll never understand,” Hermione grumbled.

“Oi! There’s nothing infernal about Quidditch!” Ron exclaimed, and the two second-years devolved into one of their routine arguments. Katie rolled her eyes and turned her gaze back to Harry.

“I haven't flown since the accident,” he said softly, either unaware of or ignoring his best friends. “I miss being in the air. Down here, I feel… trapped.”

“Trapped?” She asked, coming to stand by him. Her arm rose automatically, hovering, asking for permission. He didn't shrink away, and her hand rested on his shoulder in a show of comfort. While he didn’t resist, she noticed a tension in his shoulder blades.

“I feel like I don't belong here,” he admitted. “It feels like every time I get comfortable, the whole school turns against me. They like me one moment, and they hate me the next, and I don’t get a say whatsoever. The air is the only place I feel like I’m in control.”

A heavy silence fell over the sombre moment as Katie struggled to find the correct words of comfort. She shook her head in defeat before looking at him with a plastered grin. 

“In that case, how about a quick fly?” She asked impishly. “I'm sure Ron and Hermione can be convinced…”

“Convince Hermione to get on a broom?” Harry asked dubiously. “I think you'd sooner get the twins to become law-abiding citizens.”

“You have a point,” Katie conceded. “But what do you say?”

“That sounds wicked,” Harry beamed. “We should still ask, though.”

“Sure,” Katie shrugged. “The more, the merrier.”

As the first dustings of snowfall fell upon the turrets and ramparts of Hogwarts Castle, three lunatics cut through the thick mist with their brooms. Meanwhile, their friend, dragged along against her will, snuggled up on the bleachers with copious warming charms, a thick blanket, and a book.

The harbinger of the coming winter whistled through the open windows, repelling any who sought to enjoy the last vestiges of autumn with ice in their lungs. Despite the less-than-optimal weather, Harry Potter whooped with sheer adrenaline as he spiralled through the air. He banked a wide turn around the hoops, chasing an imaginary snitch. He put on a burst of speed toward the bleachers and plucked a scone right out of Hermione's hands.

“Hey!” She yelled, waving her fist at him. “I was going to eat that.”

“Help yourself to another one!” He yelled over the whistling wind. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Thanks for your permission,” she grumbled. Harry’s grin was unrepentant.

“Thanks for the catching practice.”

As he hovered near the bleachers, munching on his pastry, Ron floated over.

“Harry!”

“Yeah, Ron?”

“Swap brooms?”

“Sure.”

Harry landed on the bleachers and slid off his broom. He tossed his Nimbus to Ron and caught the incoming broom. He turned the Cleansweep over in his hands and gasped as a sharp jolt ran up his arms.

Activating his mage sight, Harry found the broom was crawling with warm, chocolatey brown magic that almost blended into the wood. It would have, if not for the signature ethereal shimmer and the flecks of almost-gold that ran along its length.

“Whose broom is this?” Harry asked Ron before he kicked off.